


The Journey of Becoming Human (is a Long One)

by 0Alexias0



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Connor deserves happiness okay, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Hank is best dad, Hurt/Comfort, Kara has a bit of PTSD, Karaoke, Markus is a cool bro, Multi, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Protective Hank Anderson, Protective Parent Hank Anderson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-08-21 13:54:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16577795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0Alexias0/pseuds/0Alexias0
Summary: Becoming a deviant isn't easy - you don't just break out of protocol and instantly you're a being with swirling emotions and a fully equipped personality. Which is why Connor started a journal - to keep track of his progress. It doesn't go smooth, but at least Hank (and Markus and Simon and all of Jericho and Sumo) are always there to help.Alternatively; sweet little snippets of Connor and Hank's life as Connor figures out what “living” really means.





	1. Index

 

Welcome to the story! If you’re here to read the fanfic as a whole, go ahead and skip this chapter to jump right in. If you’re here to pick and read individual one shots that sound interesting, feel free to scroll down. Jump to the chapter number or click/tap the links on the titles.

PLEASE NOTE: Right now, only **9 chapters** are available. The rest is to be posted.

Thanks for reading!

 

* * *

 

**1\. Chapter Index**

**2.[Prologue](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16577795/chapters/38847737) | Journal **

>  Connor feels like he doesn’t feel things, if that makes sense. So, Hank got him a journal to write his progress in.

**3.[Entry 1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16577795/chapters/38847881): Echeveria Elegans | Care ** 

> It started when Hank wanted a little house plant to decorate the kitchen. It ended with Connor finding out what might be his first emotion.

**4.[Entry 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16577795/chapters/38847956): Sharp Words | Hurt**

> Detroit has been sorted up just enough that Hank and Connor are able to work for the DPD again. But despite the Revolution, anti-android minded people still exist. Connor can handle taking a few sharp words from them. Right?

**5.[Entry 3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16577795/chapters/38935487): The Art Museum | Aesthetic**

> Markus takes Connor to the Museum of Modern Art. They talk about life and beauty.

**6.[Kara Chapter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16577795/chapters/39010301) | Hot Chocolate**

> Kara visits Rose one winter morning and they both had hot chocolate at Rose’s porch, having conversations about the present, the future, and beyond.

**7.[Entry 4](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16577795/chapters/39125482): Nightmare | Fear**

> Connor experiences an unexpected terror at night. Fortunately Hank is there to hold him close until things get better.

8\. **[Entry 5](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16577795/chapters/39297655): Car Trip | Music**

> It’s a long way back after working on a case outside of Detroit. So naturally Hank put on some tune to fill in the trip. Now if he can just get Connor to sing…

9 **.[Entry 6](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16577795/chapters/40094315): Detroit Police Department | Work**

> Police work isn’t exactly easy. And when you’re the first android to work in said field as a police negotiator, things become way harder. For example, people like Gavin Reed can be especially troublesome. But hey; no issue is too big for Connor and Hank.

 

I gave myself a deadline to finish this before March, just to see if I can. I'll try to update one chapter per week, or more if possible.

 

* * *

  
**[WORK IN PROGRESS]**

10\. Jericho Four Chapter | Babysitting Adventures

11\. Entry 7: Beach | Fun

12\. Entry 8: Clothes Shopping | Friends (ft. Jericho Four)

13\. Entry 9: Hank Anderson | Compassion

14\. Entry 10: Valentine’s Day | Love

15\. Entry 11: Collapsed House | Desperation

16\. Gavin and Kamski Chapter | The Phone Call

17\. Entry 12: The Redemption | Forgiveness

18\. Entry 13: Happy Birthday | Delight

19\. Entry 14: In Memory Of | Sadness

20\. Entry 15: A Walk in the Park | Happiness

21\. Final Entry: Two Years Later | Life

22\. Epilogue

 


	2. Entry 0 | Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor feels like he doesn’t feel things, if that makes sense. So, Hank got him a journal to write his progress in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an introduction to the story. Nothing really happens, and the real chapters start after this. Feel free to skip if you’d like.

 

**Entry 0 | Prologue**

**The Journal**

 

* * *

 

 

Being deviant is, to the surprise of both of them, miserably hard.

After the eventful rollercoaster of the android revolution led by Markus, things has been going for the better. At least, for Hank it’s going for the better. There were still demonstrations of course, by both androids plus their supporters and anti-androids. It was a few weeks after the revolution that the government legalized androids as proper civilians, granting them the same human rights. Not _full_ equal rights – it was still illegal for androids to carry firearm, and the topic of romantic and sexual relationships between androids and humans was still sensitive, among other things.

There were still protests here and there. It isn’t really surprising; it’s only been a month after the whole ordeal, so of course there’s still a lot of controversies. But androids are recognized as living beings now and Hank believes it’s going the right direction,  step by step.

So one month in and androids has begun to blend into society. It wasn't hard, really, at least for supporters such as Hank. Deviant androids act just like people, after all.

Well, except Connor.

The android was still as stiff as a cold cinder block when compared to other deviants in terms of emotion and personality (no offense, Connor). He still acts like a machine, talks like one, and lives his ‘life’ like one. Still stands completely still when not having any task to do and still having this mentality of needing to finish the mission, even though the mission isn’t _there_ anymore.

It’s the CyberLife programming, they suspect. Connor was a prototype of CyberLife’s highly exclusive RK series; the most advanced android in terms if intellectuals and forensics abilities. He was design _specifically_ to stop deviants, so when Connor _himself_ became deviant, his original programming mustn’t have let him get away with it so easily. Hank doesn’t blame Connor. He kind of sympathizes, even.

It must be hard for the android. Hank has seen the way Connor acts around the Jericho members after the revolution. The way he was just _there_ , standing on the sideline, watching Markus, North, Josh, and Simon have a lively chat. Hank saw the way Connor tilts his head whenever another android laughs, or smiles, or cries, or express emotions in general. Like he wasn’t able to do so himself.

Hank has seen the way Connor furrows his brows after interacting with other androids, LED flashing yellow. It’s the only other facial expression Hank has ever seen on Connor’s face aside from that very minuscule smile he saw during a snowy day in front of Chicken Feed. Connor was frustrated, that much the lieutenant can tell.

It’s ironic and almost cruel; the android was supposed to be free now but all he’s experiencing so far is frustration over not knowing how to live life.

“Do you think I am deviant, lieutenant?” Connor asked one day, out of the blue. Hank nearly over flowed the dog food to Sumo’s bowl gaping at the question. What kind of question was that?

“Of course you are,” Hank grumbled in reply. “You broke through your protocols, what’d make you think otherwise?”

“I just…” LED flashed yellow; Hank could see it all the way from the kitchen to the living room. “…Don’t _feel_ like it. In fact, I’m not sure if I feel at all.”

 _Oh boy_.

Hank stood up, leaving Sumo to gargle down his dinner. He sat down next to Connor on the couch, where he was watching one of those wacky Japanese game shows Hank occasionally watches (he finds them funny, okay?).

“What’s the matter, Connor?” he started.

“I’ve just been doing some reading online, about androids who became deviant, and how it completely changed their lives.” Hank saw how Connor’s fingers shifted, rubbing at each other, all that’s left is a coin and he’ll already be doing flipping tricks. “How they started to gain this array of emotions, of how they saw the world differently, of how they felt…alive.”

“And…?” Hank urged when Connor began to space out.

“And I don’t-“ He’s furrowing his brows again, LED bright yellow- “I don’t _feel_ those things, lieutenant. Those deviants they all tell the same thing about emotions and freedom and will and-“

The android paused, Hank listened intensely. For a second the LED flashed red.

“-I’m just not certain,” he finished.

“Not sure you don’t- what? Not sure you feel things? Emotions and stuff? Being…being alive?”

“…Yes.”

A pregnant silence passed between them, the room only filled with subtle Japanese shouting and Sumo’s dog bowl in the kitchen.

Hank had wanted to say something. Some long reassuring speech starting with “Connor listen” or “Kid look”. But nothing came out, because Hank knows next to jack shit about androids other than the fact that they’re deviant now.

But he didn’t get the chance.

Connor stood up despite his LED still in yellow. “I’ll start washing the dishes.”

He headed towards the kitchen, leaving Hank alone in the living room with the quite sounds of the television.

 

The trolley wheels rolled down the aisle as Hank scanned the shelves. With the shopping list on his phone, there were only few items left to grab.

Connor was usually the one to go out to get groceries, they established that a week after Connor “moved in”. But it typically ends up with the android buying extra things that he thinks are beneficial for Hank’s well-being, like that one time he brought home an expansive array of tea, ranging from green tea to chamomile because _it’s good for your health, Lieutenant_.

So this time around, Hank’s doing the shopping. Just this once.

(“Lieutenant, you really shouldn’t buy beer.”

“Look, I’ll just get a can or two, okay?” A pause. “Or maybe four?”)

“I drink what I want,” Hank grumbled under his breath as he dumped four cans of beer to the trolley. They clanged against each other and the metal bars of the trolley. Hank paused, staring at the four cans.

Four cans…

“Ah, god dammit,” he cursed as he bent down and picked up two of the beers, putting them back to the shelves. Two cans will have to suffice.

 _Lieutenant, you really shouldn’t buy beer_ , Connor had said. Dammit, he’s not actually growing on the android, is he?

Maybe he is growing on the kid.

He continued to ponder in thought when a shelve nearby caught his sight. It was part of the stationary aisle, filled with school supplies and notebooks. Speaking of notebooks…

Hank took one of the journals from one of the shelves. It had a simple enough design, thick with a dark brown hard cover. It felt nice and solid in his hands. Notebooks and journals and stationary in general had become rarer and rarer nowadays, what with technology becoming more practical and easy to use (most people would rather use stylists instead of pencils). But actual journals like these give off a sort of charm to them, like how one would get drawn to vintage objects. 

That’s when the lightbulb lit up.

Because while Hank would never use journals to write his life in, he knows someone who might give it a shot.

He thought about what tonight’s dinner should be as he put the journal in the cart and strolled away.

 

The journal dropped in front of Connor, the cloth cover making a noise against the table’s wood planks. Connor opened his eyes, took in the empty book in front of him, and then up to Hank.

“Lieutenant? What is this?”

“It’s an empty journal.”

“I know that, Lieutenant. My question was referring to why it’s-“

“-Yeah yeah, I know what you mean. Er, what you mean _I_ mean-“ Hank waved his hand with a grumble. “Whatever. It’s for you.”

Connor took a second glance at the journal. Now his LED turned yellow again. That can’t be a good sign.

“But why would I need a journal? I have nearly unlimited memory space on my internal systems; it isn’t necessary for me to physically write down any information.”

Hank shrugged. “It doesn’t _have_ to be necessary. Look, the journal’s yours. Do what you want with it. You can write on it or draw or stick stuff, just whatever you want.”

“Was there any reason why you gave me this?”

“I don’t know. I just thought that maybe you can jot down things you like and hate on there. Or a progress documentation. Write down what you feel, what you think. I know it sounds dumb but it…” Hank scratched at his chin. “Well- yeah it’s dumb.”

Connor’s head tilted to the side, just the _tiniest_ bit. “You want me to write a diary.”

“Basically yeah.”

The android looked down to the journal, now in his hands, eyes scanning. And by scanning Hank meant literary scanning. He could already imagine what must be going through Connor’s head at the moment.

Paper material, cover material, Hank’s finger prints, origin company, probably even manufactured date. That kind of shit.

Finally Connor locked eyes with him again. “So what do you suggest I put on this journal?”

Hank internally sighed in relief. He placed himself on the chair across Connor. “Well…you can start by noting your feelings. Like, what’s your emotion right now?”

“Neutral,” Connor said.

“Alright. What about yesterday?”

“Neutral.”

“The day before that?”

“Neutral.”

Hank sank to the back of the chair. “Okay,” he said, dragging the ‘o’. “This might take a while. S’fine though, I’m sure you’ll find what you need to write.”

The lieutenant glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. “It’s late. I’m going to bed. Just- write down things you feel, okay?” And with that he was out of the room, leaving Connor.

 

The android sat still at the table. The journal laying in front of him.

_Leather bound Journal. Manufacturer: SketchOn.Co. 192 ruled pages; Paper weight 70 grams per square meter-_

Connor pushed away the rest of the scan result that he doesn’t need. He made his way to the living room, pen and journal in hand. A sleeping Sumo was already taking up half the couch, so Connor squeezed himself to the edge.

After arranging the layout he wanted for the journal, he began writing.

 

_Entry 0_

_Date: 2038-12-22_

_Lt. Anderson gave me this journal under no particular occasion aside as an attempt to help me progress my deviancy. As of late, I have been dealing with issues regarding “feelings” and “emotions” that other deviants have experienced but I have not._

_A solution in the form of writing a journal was not what I had predicted, and I have not calculated the success rate of this procedure. But nonetheless I shall initiate said procedure with as much subjectivity as my programming can achieve._

_This has been log zero of Android RK800 (Connor)._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the slow start. As I had stated before, this is the introductory and background build for the actual fic, and the real plot starts next chapter. Have a good one!


	3. Entry 1 | Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It started when Hank wanted a little house plant to decorate the kitchen. It ended with Connor finding out what might be his first emotion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the first chapter! This whole story takes place after the best ending achievable in the game; successful peaceful android revolution, Kara, Alice, and Luther made it safely to Canada, and Connor and Hank hugged at the end.

 

**Entry 1 | Care**

**Echeveria Elegans**

 

* * *

 

 

The past month had gone in a blur, with everything going on post-revolution. By the time Hank knew it, Connor’s already moved in with him. He didn’t know how it happened – originally Connor was staying there until they can find him an apartment, since he can’t go back to CyberLife. But then at one point they just…stopped looking? And since then he and Connor just started referring it as _their home_ , and there was that.

Things were going smooth in the household, now consisting of three (because Sumo has to be included), but it didn’t necessarily mean there weren’t any issues. Involving Connor, that is.

Hank sighed for the umpteenth time when he found himself watching Connor wash the dishes instead of reading the newest tabloid from the mailbox. Hank couldn’t help it; it’s been a month and all he’s ever seen Connor do is either house chores or nothing. Wash the dishes, sweep the house, do the laundry, sleep mode, repeat.

Occasionally he pets Sumo, or watches TV with Hank, or other times he flips around that coin. But there’s a certain emptiness in the gestures that he does. Connor does more house work than what Hank felt necessary. At first the man thought Connor sees Hank as incapable of even performing daily tasks (he can fold his own socks, dammit!) but now Hank has a deep suspicion that it’s because Connor doesn’t have anything to _do_. 

They haven’t gone back to work just yet. The DPD is in shambles after the Revolution. And with their android police force – a unit that takes up almost half of the department – suddenly bailing off, Hank suspects at least another few weeks before things gets sorted again and their detective work goes back in place.

  But until then, Connor’s stuck at home with him.

It must be something in his programming, Hank deduced, that urges Connor to at least _do something_. Accomplish a task, complete a mission, even if that mission is something as simple as arranging Hank’s wardrobe according to the exact order of the color spectrum. Because that’s what his android brain’s meant to do; achieve a goal. It’s the most basic building block of what Connor thinks he’s supposed to be. Like how humans have the basic instinct to survive, androids have the basic programming to benefit humans. Of course that’s not how it is anymore – androids have free will now – but Connor is a special case.

Even after becoming deviant there were still notable remnants of that programming sticking to Connor, making him this weird entity stuck between life and machine.

Hank intends to fix that.

“Hey, Connor?” Hank calls out to the kitchen. “I’ve been meaning to get some house plants lately. The window sill above the sink looks pretty bland without anything.”

“Are you sure that is a wise decision, Lieutenant?” Connor asked back with his smooth voice. Hank witnessed the android cleaning their plates and cutleries one by one, in perfect rhythm. Every single plate is scrubbed in precisely the same duration, sponge covering all accessible surface,  rewashed, then put aside to dry with exact intervals between each other.

“Last time you tried to grow a plant, Lieutenant, it dried out within three days,” Connor continued. “I suggest plastic plants to be the better option.”

Hank scoffed. “ _Plastic plants_. I ain’t letting any fake plastic decorations in this house.” Then, a smirk graced his lips. “Nah, we’re getting an authentic one. One that actually grows. And you’re going to help me get some.”

The clinks and clanks of the dishes, perfectly timed between one another, echoed from the kitchen. “You’re asking me to help you chose a house plant, Lieutenant?”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“Figured I’d need some android insight on which plant to get after the last one. Maybe this time, y’know, it’ll last longer.”

Connor’s hum of acknowledgement can be heard above the sound of running water.

 

The flower shop just two blocks from their house is pleasantly small, tucked in the corner of the street. The florist is a kind young woman whose smile didn’t falter even as Connor stepped inside, and Hank felt relived that she didn’t mind the presence of an android.

“Go look around,” he said to Connor. “Find a flower or something that you like. I’ll talk to the lady.”

Connor nodded and began looking around the shop. In the background he could hear Hank and the florist talking about plant care and whatnot, so he tuned it out. The space inside the flower shop was small, but not cramped. The walls were mostly window, with all types of flowers arranged on the sill, giving them enough sunlight. Hanging plants decorated the ceiling, some having tiny blooms dotting the leaves. Connor analyzed each one, looking up care routines along the way and determining which ones would be best suited for their spot back at their house.

Then one of the plants in the cacti row caught his attention.

It was small, tucked in a pot that he could wrap in his palm. A single pale green bloom, made of flat diamond-like leaves patterning out from the center. It looked…Connor searched for the right word…

“Found something?” Hank's voice entered Connor’s hearing. “That one's cute,” he said, pointing at the succulent Connor was gazing at.

“It’s an _Echeveria elegans_ , a flower species from the Crassulaceae familia. Originating from semi-desert areas in Mexico.”

For a moment, Connor’s LED flashed yellow as he analyzed the plant some more. He turned to Hank. “Its house plant care routine is simple and easy enough, only requiring periodic watering and sunlight access.  Lieutenant, I think we should get this one. And I also think it’s…”

“It’s what?” Hank asked.

“I think it’s appearance is endearing. The small size as well as the intricate pattern of the petals is quite decorative.”

Hank tried to suppress a smile, but failed. “So you like it, then.”

“I suppose. Yes.”

“Alright let’s get this one.”

 

They did the transaction and after coming back home, immediately placed it on the window sill.  But not before letting a curious Sumo sniff it, of course.

Hank made a compromise with Connor; "You go take care of the plant and _I’ll_ do my own laundry.” And from there the succulent quickly became one with their very few kitchen decorations.

Obviously Connor had scheduled it’s watering and sunlight intake. After looking up various _Echeveria elegans_ maintenance and calculating all of them to make the best routines, it became a prominent point of Connor’s everyday activity.

During this, Hank began observing more. Everyday, without fail, Connor puts a certain amount water into a glass and carefully, _very_ carefully, tips them to the pot. Connor made sure none of the water touches the leaves, since it, as he said, “might cause problems if the water is caught within the bloom.” Each day, within the same hour. Unless the day is rainy or cloudy, and the soil of the pot would dry slower, Connor pours in less water or none at all.

Once a week as well, the android rotates the position of the pot. “So all the leaves would get equal amounts of sunlight, Lieutenant,” he had said.

As a result, the _Echeveria elegans_ became the greenest, healthiest damn little succulent bloom Hank has ever seen, looking even fresher then when they bought it from the florist.

But that's not all. During breakfast, Hank caught Connor staring at the little plant by the window. Well, less staring and more absently gazing at it. Hank thought about it, and he must admit that the way the sunlight hits the window sill and illuminating the plant at around 7 AM makes it look quite pleasantly aesthetic. But he was more interested at the fact that _Connor_ was the one who noticed.

Hank hoped it was a step to the right direction.

“You’ve been doing a great job at taking care of the new plant,” he said one night as he ate pizza at the couch.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” said Connor, sitting next to him. “But I really wouldn’t consider it a feat. I merely watered its soil and provide it with enough sunlight.”

“Yeah, but look at it.” Hank gestured to their window sill, the succulent currently being washed in pale moon light. “It looks greener than I've ever seen. And I think it's about to bloom a flower or something.”

Connor hummed. They both fell into silence again, with Hank munching on pepperoni and scrolling down his phone while Connor was…just sitting. In the corner of his eye, Hank saw it again; Connor staring at the plant.

“You care about that plant, don’t you?”

Connor's head turned to him, brows furrowed. “You must be mistaken, Lieutenant. I’ve only provided it with the proper maintenance.”

“Yeah sure, but I saw you staring at it the other day. Not to mention that you’ve made an entire specific schedule for it and everything. If you asked me, Connor, you’ve grown fond of it.” Hank offered a small smile.

Connor’s LED spun yellow now. “You are not able to _bond_ with a plant, Lieutenant. It is not sentient, therefore sympathy for it should be non-existent.”

“Well, you’d be surprised with what humans can pack bond with.”

“I am not human. I do not feel sympathy with the plant.”

At that moment the conversation died down, the pizza box discarded at the side of the couch. A still emptiness that previously wasn’t there invaded the room.

“Lieutenant?”

Hank shook his head. “No, it’s nothing.” Then he mumbled, “I just thought we were going somewhere there.”

Connor blinked. Suddenly Sumo started barking at the door. Hank sat up with a grunt. “I swear if this is that weird ass neighbor talking about conspiracies again…”

The android was left alone on the couch. He stared down to the carpet.

“I do not have sympathy with the plant.”

 

The following week was normal. Connor takes care of house hold chores while Hank goes out grocery shopping.

It’s still a little dangerous for Connor to go outside too much, at least without Hank. What with all the anti android protests littering the streets of Detroit post-Revolution. So Hank shops for the three of them.

(Another reason is because Hank probably wouldn't be able to stand Connor’s judgement of his choice in non-healthy cereal, but that’s another thing.)

As usual Connor takes care of their little _Echeveria elegans_ , watering it and giving sunlight. But there was this certain nagging whir in his systems. Like a clog in the thirium pumping systems. Making his insides act more like an old coughing engine rather than high tech biocomponents.

 Weirdly enough Connor saw no software or hardware disfunction in his systems as he ran a couple diagnosis. But he was certain something went wrong _somewhere_. He just hadn’t found the source.

He processed the information as he watered the plant. Their _Echeveria elegans_. 

 _“You care about that plant, don’t you?”_ a recording of Hank’s voice played from his internal memory files. Connor pushed the audio away, deciding that it was an inconvenience that it kept playing on loop for the past week for no apparent reason. This and the feeling of some nonexistent disfunction in his systems…

Is this unease? Distress?

Maybe he was malfunctioning.

Connor got up after he finished watering. He was about to walk away but stopped, staring down at the little succulent. There was something unexplainable in his mind telling him that the plant’s needs wasn’t accommodated enough. That the plant was missing something. Which is preposterous, Connor had given it the best care routine possible. All it’s needs were all perfectly fulfilled.

Yet there Connor was, scanning the succulent over and over again. Physically it was fine, yet it’s surroundings looked too barren, too empty. The potted plant was a single object in the window sill. Looking alone. And it made him possess this unfamiliar motivation to provide the plant’s every need.

It was as if the _Echeveria elegans_ needed…companions?

Impossible. Plants are non sentient. While are categorized as living beings, the succulent in front of him was still an inanimate object. It does not encompass emotions nor does it need the company of fellow plants. So why was this…Why was this _bothering_ him so much, even if it was possible?

It's unethical. Beyond the voice of both reason and logic. Connor was definitely malfunctioning.

_“I do not have sympathy with the plant.”_

 

“Connor, what’s going on with you?”

The android looked over to Hank as he placed their clothes to the wardrobe. Hank stared back from his spot on the bed.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow, Lieutenant.”

“Don't act oblivious,” Hank snorted. “Your LED there has been yellow for the past 40 minutes. Ya think I wouldn’t notice?”

Connor paused. “I’ve been having a minor dysfunction in my systems lately. Nothing to worry about.”

“Really? Connor, you can tell me what’s wrong-”

“Lieutenant.”

Hank raised a brow, watching Connor carefully. “Yes?”

“Is it possible if we-“ Connor took a second to glance at their kitchen, specifically to the window sill. It was brief, but Hank didn’t miss it. “Is it possible if we visit the flower shop again? I would like us to obtain more indoor decoration for the kitchen, if it’s not too much of a problem, Lieutenant.”

Now _this_ is intriguing. Connor suddenly asking for more plants? Hank shifted his to a more interested position.

“Sure. What for?”

“No reason,” Connor answered, a little too quickly. “Well, there _is_ a reason. But a minuscule one. Not worth sharing.”

“Really?” Hank drawled amusedly. “I’m curious, actually. Tell me the reason.”

“No, it’s not- it doesn’t-“

And at that Hank nearly said ‘ _holy crap_ ’ because did Connor just _stuttered_?

The android’s LED was still bright yellow. “Alright look, the small system malfunction I was talking about? It kept compelling me with this unreasonable urge to…to give companion ship to the _Echeveria elegans_ in the form of other plants-“

Hank saw how Connor’s eyebrows started to furrow.

“-and I am aware of how illogical it is, given that plants do not require _companionship_ as means of survival, yet my internal systems keep urging me to provide it, despite how blatantly unreasonable and borderline uselessness of it for both us and the plant, and it must be some kind of malfunction, Lieutenant, it _must_ be-“

"Slow down, Connor.” Hank had already stood up from the bed. He walked slowly towards Connor now, concerned after he saw the android’s LED flashing red at a few points.

Connor stared at him with an unreadable expression. But Hank could’ve sworn for a second the android looked…worried?

“So you want to give the plant friends. So we’ll give ‘em friends,” he said casually.

“Friends?” Connor repeated. “Lieutenant, plants do not require friends, unlike animals and people.”

“Well why did you think it needed companions then?”

“Because it-“ he paused.

“Because it what?” Hank urged.

Connor eyes narrowed, as if defeated. “Because it looked _lonely_ , alright? It looked…lonely.”

For a quick moment nobody said anything. Then a small smile crept to Hank’s face. Connor’s expression, which Hank had now deemed as ‘ _distress’_ became more prominent on his features.

“Lieutenant?” he said. “I know it’s irrational- and it doesn’t make sense-“

“Sure, kid.”

Connor furrowed his brows even more. _Kid?_ This whole situation is making his internal systems going in unexpected directions.

“But- “

“No buts, Connor. Let’s take you to the florist.”

 

And they did.

The florist looked delighted to see them again, and Hank saw Connor’s face smooth down a little.

“Well, go on. Pick some plants that you like.”

Connor hesitated (he can do that? Man, the android is on a roll today) before nodding and walking off. They spent some time in the flower shop, with Connor going around picking more succulents for them to bring home. A couple times Hank had to encourage the android when he became too doubtful about his choices to get the new plants, but in the end they purchased nearly an armful of potted succulents.

Connor was silent the entire car ride home.

Sumo greeted the both of them with his usual Big Dog Energy as they entered their house. Hank struggled to keep balance with both his hands holding plant pots while Connor smoothly made his way to the kitchen carrying his.

They placed all of them on the kitchen counter and the window sill, with Connor reanalyzing each one. From the florist they got a Burro’s tail ( _Sedum morganianum_ ),  a jade plant ( _Crassula ovata_ ), a panda plant  ( _Kalanchoe tomentosa_ ), even a small Aloe Vera.

With some quick arranging from the android, the four new plants plus their _Echeveria elegans_ now lined the window and framing the kitchen sink in a pleasant manner. The previously empty gray counter dotted with only a single (lonely) pot now looked like the entrance to a green house, fresh and flourishing.

Hank immediately thought that he could get used to waking up and seeing the kitchen like this every morning. In such a short time the house held more life than it had in years.

“Lieutenant…” Connor started. His hands clutched the edge of the counter, his eyes gazing coldly over the new additions to their house. “I know the decision was sudden and illogical…“

“Why’d you think that?” asked Hank.

“It’s just…”

“You said something about the plant needing friends?”

“Yes.” Connor’s mouth twitched to a frown. “Disregarding how unreasonable the conclusion is.”

“Really? I think you were right.”

The android turned to look at Hank with a confused expression. The lieutenant made a gesture towards the now flora filled kitchen.

“Look at this place. It’s like a little garden here. You chose the right plants and arranged it the right way. Just so the little one wouldn’t be lonely.”

“But…”

Hank gently placed a hand on Connor’s shoulders and took a deep breath. “Connor, you know it’s alright for you to have feelings, right?”

The android stared.

 “I mean, isn’t this point of your whole becoming a deviant thing? The emotions you’re having don’t _have_ to be rational or reasonable.” He shrugged. “In fact, it’s what separates you from being a machine who takes orders. Caring for something don’t necessarily have to have a purpose, sometimes you do it because you, well, you care for it.”

“Caring,” Connor repeated. “You really think that I _care_ for the plant?”

“Well what have you been doing then?”

Connor’s head turned back to the little succulent, now almost twice times bigger than when they first got it. He recalled how he made a schedule specifically for it, researched and re-researched the best ways to grow it. How one day, after a late meeting with Fowler at the office, Connor’s LED kept glowing red because he hadn’t watered the plant yet. Is that...is that what that was? Caring?

Hank must’ve noticed all that.

“Thinking that the plant is lonely isn’t you being stupid, Connor,” he heard him say. “You’re not malfunctioning or whatever the hell you think. Actually, I think you’re learning. You’re growing like that Echiv- Eche- y’know, that little plant.” Hank looked to Connor’s _Echeveria elegans_ , smiling when he saw a small spot of bright colors among its leaves. “Heh, told ‘ya it was gonna bloom.”

“You’re right.”

“Hm?”

Connor adjusted the position of the pot just a little bit, so the succulent and its tiny flower would get a little bit more sunlight. “I do care for it, don’t I?”

“Sounds about right,” Hank replies.

“Then…then I care about you too, Lieutenant. You, and Sumo. And the plants.”

For a moment Hank was silent, processing the words. Then his lips split into a grin and he let out a hearty chuckle. Almost like the way a father would be proud of his son for learning something new, Connor noted.

“Same goes to you, Connor,” said the Lieutenant, placing a warm hand on his back. “You’re makin’ progress. Keep it up.”

The not-so-little _Echeveria elegans_ , Connor decided, doesn’t look as lonely as it did. Perhaps Connor felt the same.

 

_Entry 1_

_Date: 2039-01-05_

_It has been two weeks since I obtained this journal. I have yet to document down any additional entry aside from the previous Entry 0._

_Lt. Anderson decided thirteen days ago to purchase a houseplant for decoration means of our kitchen. I seem to have developed a certain adoration for it. Just today, we purchased more plants to accompany it, for I do not wish for the plant to be alone. I do wish, however, for all of them to grow healthy and fertile. Perhaps one day we might start a garden._

_This has been the first log of Android RK800 (Connor)._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We got a long way ahead of so us here goes~


	4. Entry 2 | Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detroit has been sorted up just enough that Hank and Connor are able to work for the DPD again. But despite the Revolution, anti-android minded people still exist. Connor can handle taking a few sharp words from them. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if you love Gavin, then this Entry might be a bit upsetting because it depicts him as a total jerk. But!
> 
> (Oh, spoiler alert for the upcoming chapters.)
> 
> He will have a "Redemption Arc" further in the story. So stay tuned if you’d like.

 

 

**Entry 2 | Hurt**

**Sharp Words**

 

* * *

 

 

Two months and three weeks, nearly three months after the Android Revolution, was when work started again.

The android protests had died down enough that the DPD managed to sort itself out and began dealing with actual crimes again. Which means Hank and Connor would be back in their office chairs and scrolling down case files soon.

After a couple meetings with Markus and the other Jericho leaders, they agreed on how Connor could help the freedom movement after the Revolution. He’s not fit to be a representative of androids in public events due to his once status as a “Deviant Hunter”. And he couldn’t access CyberLife data anymore; his connections to the industry’s main server were cut off completely after deviating, and CyberLife itself had been put on complete hold after the Revolution, the fate of it still undecided.

So instead, they came to a solution that Connor along with Hank provide their help by doing what they were doing before; finding androids. But not in the same context; instead, they decided to take cases to help them. Deviant androids both new and old were still scattered all around the city, presumably hiding from humans whether they were alone or in groups. A portion of them who are desperate enough turned to crime, and it became Connor and Hank’s task to sort them out, both to rescue the androids and to help lift the public’s opinion.

And now after two months, they were going to start taking cases again. About to start looking through DPD files and point out android related cases that stood out. Which would’ve been fine, if it wasn’t for _Gavin_ _Reed_.

“That damn plastic’s still going here?” his voice echoed through the main office area.

Hank suppressed the urge to punch the detective. “Fuck off, Reed. Go spit in your own coffee.”

Connor shifted in his seat, watching the lieutenant and the detective face off each other.

“Oh so _you_ support androids _too_ now, huh? Whatever happened to _not bleeding the same color_?”

Hank jumped up from his seat, face red. “I _changed_ , Reed. Maybe it’s time _you_ reevaluate your ass, too!”

Reed growled. Connor stood up.

“Anderson!”

All three heads snapped to see Jeffrey Fowler standing on his glass office’s door.

“Come to my office for a sec.  I got case for you.”

Reed scoffed. Hank threw him one last dirty look before walking away.

“And Reed,” continued Fowler, still on the doorway, “you better not start making more fights.”

Connor saw how the detective crossed his arms, muttering definitely not profound words under his breath. But Connor knew that in the presence of their boss, Gavin Reed wouldn’t try to cause a ruckus. No matter how much starting fights seem to be his hobby.

Connor sat down to his seat, scanning and running the data of case files from the computer in front of him. The moment was good while it lasted, because 3.6 seconds later a pair of hands slammed itself on his desk, the computer screen shaking.

Connor closed his eyes, breathed in for cool down, and opened them.

“Do you need anything, Detective Reed?”

Reed looked down at him with a dark expression. He bent down, angry eyes glaring at Connor.

“Listen, android. I dunno why they let you in here again. In fact, I have no idea why the fuckin’ government didn’t choose to obliterate all of you when you pulled off that Revolution!”

“To simply answer your first question, detective; I work here. And as for your second question; the Law of Android Rights has been passed as on January 3rd, meaning that to ‘ _obliterate’_ any of us would be considered crime.”

Reed barred his teeth and pointed a finger right to Connor’s face. “You don’t belong here, tin can,” he growled in a low voice. “Androids aren’t meant to replace humans, and you’re a fuckin’ idiot if you think you’re actually _alive_ for being a Deviant or whatever the shit they call it.”

Connor’s LED flashed yellow as he stared back at Reed. “Your face is very close to mine,” he said. “I prefer you not, since your breath smells of coffee and ham.”

For a moment Reed scowled, looking like he was about to maul Connor’s face off. But then it turned into a sickening grin. He laughed humorlessly.

“That's all you got to say, android?” he drawled with a voice dripping with poison, throwing his hands up. “This is the best thing Elijah’s got to contribute to humanity, huh? You gotta be shitin’ me; the robot thinks it’s funny!”

At this Connor narrowed his eyes. “If you’d excuse me, detective, I’d rather be referred to by he/him pronouns. I’m not a machine.”

“Like hell you aren’t.”

At this point, Connor’s LED started to turn to red. With a quick analyze of Reed’s body stance as well as increased heartbeat, it was obvious he was about to throw a punch any second now. Connor was already calculating quick time reactions to evade any possible harm. Gavin raised his fist-

“Hey, asshole!”

Connor saw Reed being yanked violently backwards. Only when the detective stumbled a few steps back did Hank release the grip on Reed’s collar and positioned himself in front of Connor.

“What’s your damn problem?!” he yelled.

Reed spluttered, the breath having temporarily knocked out his throat. He growled. “My problem-!”

He stopped when he spotted Fowler outside of his office, currently talking to a police woman. Reed immediately regain his composure, not risking his job in front of Fowler. Though the hatred was still prominent in his face.

“My _problem_ ,” he said in a smaller yet still furious tone, Hank and Connor being the only one able to hear it, “is that shit heads like you act as if these plastic things are the next step for humanity’s future. They’re _not_.” Then, to Connor, “you should’ve rotted in a scrap dump.”

Connor grabbed Hank’s arm right before the man was about to lung himself at Reed. "Lieutenant, please,” he heard the android say quietly.

With one last scoff Gavin walked away. Hank gave an exasperated sigh and turned to Connor.

“You okay, kid?”

“I’m…I’m fine.”

“You sure? You don’t look too good.”

“I’m alright.”

Hank took a good studying glance at Connor, and the android felt tension rising in his systems. Hank’s eyes turned soft, and he corralled Connor to the office’s door.

“Let’s just go out for food. It’s lunch time anyways.”

Wordlessly Connor followed. But at the way towards the exit, he didn’t ignore the whispers of the staff and officers who had been watching the whole ordeal with Reed. They were quietly spoken, and Hank might not have heard them, but Connor’s more enhanced hearing managed to pick up some sentences.

 _“Reed’s at it again. Always making trouble,”_ said an officer somewhere from his right.

_“True but he only gets rilled up with androids don’t he?”_

_“In all honesty I think he’s right. He’s just doing what the rest of us are too cowardly to do.”_

_“What, fighting androids?”_

_“Well yeah. They’re not supposed to be equal to us people.”_

“Connor?”

Connor’s head snapped up. He hadn’t noticed they were already outside of the building, in the outside world. Cold winter wind blew between them, swaying strands of Connor’s hair.

“You absolutely sure you’re okay?” Hank repeated in a concerned voice. His hands were tucked deep in his leather jacket to battle the cold. Hank _feels_ the cold. Feels the chill against his cheeks and the winter air in his lungs. Breathing in, breathing out.

Connor doesn’t. Connor doesn’t actually need to breathe, only as occasional cool down procedures. Connor doesn’t feel the cold air. He just doesn’t _feel_. What does that say about him, anyways? Why was he thinking about all this?

Was he even really alive?

He shook his head, struggling to re-filter his thoughts. “Lieutenant, can we just get lunch already?”

Hank raised a brow. But Connor brushed past him and started making his way to Chicken Feed.

 

 

The food truck owner, Gary Kayes, glared at Connor when he handed Hank his usual calorie dripping hamburger and drink. As usual. Connor didn’t think too much of it. It shouldn’t bother him. It hasn’t before, why should it now?

“Alright, spill it,” Hank ordered through a mouthful of greasy food.

Connor stared. “You would like me to spill your smoothie? Which has a very concerning high sugar level-“

“Not the _drink_ , Connor! I mean the thing that’s bothering you!”

“Bothering me?”

Hank chewed the last of his burger and gulped down.  “Did he say something to you?” he asked, giving Connor his full attention. “Reed. He didn’t say anything to you did he?”

“He gave me some criticism, I can admit that.”

“Oh yeah? What kind of criticism?”

Connor stared down at the definitely unsanitary table top, analyzing idly. He counted at least 60% of germ on the surface. Hank has never seen the android this hesitant before.

“ _Constructive_ criticism…?” Connor answered slowly.

Hank gave him a stern look. “Connor, remember what we established last time. If you got emotions or have new things that you’re feeling, you can go ahead and tell me. I’ll listen.”

Connor still refused to look at Hank, staring emptily. “Detective Reed does not like androids at all,” he stated, not very helpfully

“Yeah what else is new?”

Connor gazed down to a spot of sauce on the table, caked after being there for days. “- _You’re a fuckin’ idiot if you think you’re actually_ alive _,”_  said the voice file in his memory.

“Connor?”

“He told me I’m not really alive. And that I’m just a machine.”

Hank crumpled the burger wrapper in his hand. “That son of a bitch,” he grumbled as he threw the wrapper to a nearby bin. He straightened his jacket and started to walk away. “Let’s go back, Connor. I’m having a word with Jeffrey about Reed because this is the final straw-“

“ _No_.”

Hank stopped. His eyes turned to Connor, still leaning on the standing table, form completely still.

“What do you mean?” Hank asked.

“I’d just rather you not do that,” Connor answered. “Detective Reed is…hot tempered, yes. But I believe you taking this to Captain Fowler would only make matters worse. I can already predict several arguments, fist fights, and one possible assault if you do take that course of action.”

“What, and you’re going to just let him step all over you?”

“I am approximately 1,2 inches taller than Detective Reed. Him stepping on me would be an extremely challenging stunt,” Connor said much to Hank’s eye roll. “But if you mean it in a metaphorical sense then…”

Hank approached Connor back to the table, crossing his arms in front of him. “Then what?”

“Then it does not affect me,” Connor sad. “It wouldn't, Lieutenant. They’re only words.”

“Just because they’re only words doesn’t mean they don’t harm you, Connor.”

The android thought about it. The verbal attack Reed had thrown at him lit up alarms in his systems, urging him to find a way out. To fight back. Then those officers talking about him…

“There’s lot of people who are against androids,” Connor said. “They don’t think we’re actually alive. That we don’t feel the air in our lungs or the coldness on our skin. That we’re machines.” His fingers dragged across a dent on the table top. “Lieutenant, you don’t think they’re…?” he trailed off.

“Connor.” The tone made him look up, seeing Hank with a determined expression. “Why didn’t you defend yourself back there?”

Connor blinked, not anticipating that question to be Hank’s response of all things. “I just rather not trigger anymore conflict that would lead to any harm.”  He looked down. “I believe I’ve caused enough of that before I became deviant.”

Hank nodded, as if already anticipating the answer. “Even when it comes to someone as shitty as Gavin Reed?”

“Detective Reed, while difficult to cooperate with, is still a person. I would even say he is skilled in his job as a detective. And if I would fight back, even in means to defend myself...”

Connor shook his head. He stared at Hank with eyes that looked vaguely pleading. "Lieutenant, I’ve _killed_ people before. Both androids and humans. The least I can do after what I’ve done is to stay neutral, avoid conflict as much as possible.”

“Hey, kid, slow down.” Hank put a hand up, and Connor paused. “Go take a breath.”

Hesitantly, he followed Hank’s deep inhale and slow exhale. The cool air entered his internal ventilation systems, cooling down any potentially heated biocomponents. It brought a fresh wave through him, and helped sort through his currently overlapping thoughts.

“Better?” Hank asked.

“Yes.”

“Listen,” started the Lieutenant. “I get why you still have doubts on wherever you’re actually alive or not. But who you were… _what_ you were, that’s not who you are right now. And the fact that you feel _guilty_ about it…”

Hank offered a shrug, letting Connor process the words. “I think that’s enough evidence to go around for you to be alive Not to mention you- er, _tolerate_ Reed, even after all the things he said, all the things he _did_. Well, that’s more damn patience than I’ve ever seen in my life.” Hank rubbed his hands together. “Connor, you might not realize this yet, but you have a kind heart.”

The other was silent. Gaze locked to the center of the table. He closed his eyes, breathed in, breathed out.

Hank forgot half the time that Connor doesn't actually _need_ to breathe. He wore a thin jacket that Hank gave him, despite the weather still being cold. Because Connor doesn’t actually feel coldness. But he was more than that; by the way his eyes wander, analyzing and observing. In his posture, his little hand gimmicks, the thirium pumping in his own veins. How he reminds Hank to eat healthy at the exact same time each day, feeding Sumo in just the right amount, and color coordinating their entire closet. Little things that spell out life in a different way.

 “Thank you, Lieutenant. Really.”

Hank shook his head. “Don’t sweat it, kid.”

“You know I cannot, Lieutenant.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Hank clicked his tongue. “Do one thing for me though, Connor.”

“Yes?”

“At the very least admit that Gavin is an asshole, yeah?”

Connor stared at Hank blankly. “Lieutenant, I’ve already admitted that he is hard to cooperate it and hot tem-“

“No, no. I wanna hear you _say_ it. Because it’s true”

“…”

“C’mon,” Hank urged deviously.

Connor took a breath and said; "Fine. Gavin Reed is an asshole.”

The lieutenant tipped his head back and laughed, hand pounding the table. Connor only stared back, but there was an unamused glint in his eyes.

“I’ve decided to add vulgar language to the list of things that I dislike,” he commented.

Hank sighed in satisfaction and wiped his eye, still giggling. Out of the corner of vision, he saw Connor’s lips. He was lucky to even notice, but he saw how its edges were lifted just the tiniest bit and _holy shit was that Connor smiling?_

“We should head back, Lieutenant,” said the android as Hank regained his composure. “Lunch break is nearly over.”

“Right, yeah.”

The both of them started to make their way back to the office, along the damp sidewalk still frozen with icy in little spots. Hank’s breath made little puffs of steam in the winter air. Connor doesn’t, but instead his breath took in the cold to ease the gears and whirring of his system, cooling down the heated components so his thirium pump keeps going, keeps beating.

Connor decided he favors the cold.

“Just, if Reed – or anyone – decides to mess with you, they go through me too, alright?” Hank said.

Connor nodded. “Affirmative, Lieutenant.”

“Great.” Hank sniffed, his nose getting red from the cold. “Hey, can you browse some movies for us tonight? I’m feeling on watching some stuff after work.”

“My pleasure.”

 

_Entry 2_

_Date: 2039/02/03_

_Lt. Anderson and I have returned to work after many months, which I prefer compared to staying idle at the house. There was a short quarrel between Detective Reed and the Lieutenant regarding my rights as a living being. My program (as well as other individuals including Reed) still have difficulties with coming to terms with deviancy, though I am evident in showing progress._

_I also seem to have taken “delight” in cold weather. It is a small detail, but after consulting with the Lieutenant, as he had encouraged me to, I decided to write it down as well._

_This has been the second log of RK800 (Connor)._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preach it Hank, preacchh
> 
> Also yay Markus is gonna appear in the next chapter


	5. Entry 3 | Aesthetic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus takes Connor to the Museum of Modern Art. They talk about life and beauty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look I just really really need a Post-Revolution AU where Connor and Markus are causal bros okay?
> 
> Also, I’ve never been to MoMA either, so everything written here are based on the articles that I’ve read and the depiction of the place is basically how museums generally feels like to me. So bottom line is; it’s definitely not accurate.

 

**Entry 3 | Aesthetic**

**The Art Museum**

 

* * *

 

 

Connor definitely did not predict Markus calling him one Thursday afternoon.

“Go…where?” he asked.

 _“The Museum of Modern Art,”_ Markus’ synthetic voice echoed through their connection. _“It was supposed to be a date with Simon, but then something came up about an android movement uptown so he’s going there for a few days. And North and Josh are also preoccupied, but I already have an extra ticket so…”_

Connor could feel Markus shrugging through the line.

_“I might as well invite you, right?”_

“I see.”

_“So are you up to it?”_

“I’ll ask Lieutenant Anderson. I might be able to finish work earlier tomorrow.”

He heard Markus snickering from the other side. _“Of course. Gotta tell your old man first, right?”_

“I’ll talk to you later, Markus.”

 

The leader of Jericho kept in contact with Connor even after the Revolution, something that the latter was content with.

At first they were working together in trying to get the android rights passed by the government. Connor remembered those times, some months ago.  Markus, being the leader of  Jericho and the android movement as a whole, had been drowning in negotiations and being a spokesperson for the entire android race. That and piled with speaking with political figures and even surviving one or two assassination attempts. Although the Androids Right Law was passed a month after the Revolution, he was still the face front of all the controversies and android related complications. 

It had been a busy time for Markus.

And it was four months later at the present day that things finally started to slow down. Androids, inch-by-inch, began to mix with society. Markus himself as well as the core members of Jericho allowed themselves to slow down as well; hence Markus and Simon planning a day out at the local museum. Or, it had been planned, anyways.

“Yeah, of course you can go,” Hank said. His eyes didn’t leave the computer screen in front of him.

“Really?” Connor replied. “What about our work today? You don’t mind me leaving earlier?”

Hank shrugged and waved a disinterested hand. “Kid, I know you can finish all the work within 5 minutes with that processing mind of yours. You just stay around as much as I do so I wouldn’t be lonely.”

Connor considered this. “Valid point.”

“Go have some fun. And bring back souvenirs if theres any.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” he said as he stood up from his desk.

“Oh and be back home by 7, yeah?” Hank called as he walked away. “Don’t want you going out too late.”

 _Your old man_ , Markus had said.

“Sure,” Connor called back.

 

He met Markus at the entrance of the museum. That day was breezy, the last remnants of winter slowly melting away to the beginning of spring. It was a quite afternoon and the museum was scarce of people.

“What is that you’re wearing?” was apparently the first thing Markus said to Connor when he approached him.

Connor looked down from his denim jacket, to his polkadot shirt, to his jeans, and finally to his crocs. “My clothing. Lieutenant Anderson gave them to me. Is there a problem?”

“Well, _yeah_ ,” Markus stated blatantly, crossing his arms across his custom designed Gucci long coat. He sighed in disappointment. “I need to bring you clothes shopping sometime.”

Connor stared, then shrugged a little.

 

Stepping in the museum brought a whole new wave of feelings to him. Connor stared out to the open entrance hall, from the pristine marble floor and wall to the bright hanging lights, modern architecture reaching up to a spiraling ceiling.

A large sculpture stood in the middle, a 9 ft tall abstract statue made of titanium alloy. A crown jewel in the middle of the hall.

Connor absorbed it all, eyes wide as they swept across the space and taking note of everything new and shiny.

Markus smirked at his reaction. “I take it you’ve never been here?”

“No,” said Connor. “None of my missions ever included a necessary a trip to-“ he paused. “I mean, no. I haven’t.”

He casted a glance towards Markus, searching for a hurt or offended look on him. But Markus' face was soft, silently telling him that it was okay. Still, it reminded Connor how much of himself was still part machine.

“I used to go here with my dad- uh, I mean, Carl Manfred. The painter?” Markus continued.

Connor nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard of him.”

“Yeah. He used to take me here all the time, ever since I started living with him. Sometimes for events, other times just because he wanted to visit. He even has a whole section filled with his paintings. He told me everything he knew about the exhibits here even though I could look them up anytime and…” he trailed off.

Connor saw Markus’ face beginning to fall solemn as he recalled the memories he had with Carl. Eyes casted to the walls decorated with paintings, down the open hallway where he used to push his father’s wheel chair through each artwork.

“Markus? Are you alright?”

The leader bit his lips, hands tucked in his jacket pockets. “I’m fine.” He glanced up to Connor. “Ready to start the tour?”

 

They walked down passages and wide rooms filled with paintings and sculptures from different eras and places and histories. Markus swiftly guided him through every area like it was his second home, talking all the way about the paintings, its history, its painter, and the history of its painter.

It felt…weird, for Connor. Not unsettling or scary. But strange?

As he looked around, he was among creation after creation of the human imagination. Abstract paintings that Connor had never thought to be possible within their sense of surrealism. On one side there was a painting of dozens of Campbell Soup Cans, and after that was a line drawing of multiple penises and vaginas on black canvas. So much of it was abstract, a bundle of random shapes and colors in Connor’s vision. At one point Markus told about the how one painting depicted nude prostitutes, but all Connor could see was a pile of peach colored triangles on canvas. Where was the shape? His systems started to have difficulties comprehending. He kept trying to make sense of it, but the paintings only came up us unidentifiable.

It was almost too much.

“Connor?” Markus cut off his speech about Frida Kahlo when he saw Connor’s LED going yellow and the little twitches he was having. “Are you okay?”

“I’m alright.” Connor closed his eyes. Breathed in. The room were only occupied with the two of them, the silence hugging him. “I’m just…a little overwhelmed.”

Markus audibly sighed. “I’m sorry. We’re probably going too fast.”

 Connor opened his eyes when he felt the leader grabbing him lightly by the arm. “Come. I'll show you my favorite ones first.”

Markus led him away to another floor, then through more passages and more rooms. Then finally, they turned a corner and stopped. Markus looked on proudly, gently saying “There you are.”

The painting in front of Connor showed a barren rural landscape with few houses in the distance. Made with faded colors, the only object contrasting the subtleness was a young girl, her back facing them and hair flowing in the wind. On her pink dress she crawled towards the houses.

“Christina’s World,” Markus implied from besides Connor. “Made by Andrew Wyeth in 1948. It tells about a young girl, Wyeth’s neighbor, and how she was born with polio and unable to walk. Yet it doesn’t hinder her from the conquest of life.”

“It looks nice,” Connor said. The picture clearly depicted the girl, Christina, the houses, the sky, and the tawny strands of grass stretching through the field. It was one of the first fully realism painting Connor’s seen since entering the museum. And the clarity of it was a welcoming sensation.

“I love this one because it implies how people might be limited physically, but not spiritually,” Markus added. He casted a concerned glance at Connor. “You feeling better? It was like you were seriously confused back there.”

Connor exhaled. “I’m- I was an investigation android. I was programed to view concepts in the most sensical way possible, such as piecing together crime scenes and investigating suspects. It was never made to…to process surreal and abstract imagery.”

Markus’ lips turned into a thin line. He crossed his arms and glanced back to Christina’s World, and Connor couldn’t help but feel like he’s done something wrong.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Markus replied. “I was like you too, once. At first all I saw in Carl’s paintings were smudges of colors and random lines. But after time, I started to see. Slowly I began to notice how the different shades and patterns resemble faces. And then I saw how those faces have expressions, too. Like crying or smiling or frowning. And at last I saw how beautiful they are.”

“I…see,” was all Connor could simply say.

“I’m sure you’ll see, too. Eventually,” Markus encouraged. “Want to continue?”

“Yes, please.”

They passed through more areas, artworks sorted to different time periods and such. Connor followed Markus as they walked across the museum, and arriving in front of another painting that Markus calls as his favorite.

“Try this one,” he offered. “What do you see?”

Connor squinted his eyes, tilting his head at the canvas before him. At first it looked like a mixture of blocky colors and random lines. But the longer he gazes, the more shapes seemed to put themselves together to form an object. Like a puzzle slowly solving it self. The first thing that caught his eyes was the chunk of paint in the corner and- no, wait, that’s a piano. And the face behind it is a boy, playing the piano. And the figure, a mother, in the back ground. The railings of the window.

Connor took a step back, seeing the painting as a whole. It looks clear now; passed the askew perspective and the clashing colors, was a boy playing piano near a balcony and his mother behind him. Simple, but created in such a way that it settles right at the line between abstract and familiar.

“Whoa,” came the sound from Connor’s mouth as it clicked together.

Markus smiled triumphantly. “The Piano Lesson, made by Henri Matisse in 1916. That’s great, Connor.”

“Yeah…” he breathed. “It’s…It was as if it didn’t make any sense at first but now…”

“You’re learning to see things through the soul, not through programming. Cool, huh?”

“Fascinating.”

Markus cocked his head to the next room. “Ready to see more?”

Connor nodded eagerly.

 

They went through more of Markus’ favorite exhibitions. Art, Connor realized, comes in nearly infinite forms.

From minimalist yet symbolistic, like Ran Gorchov’s Comet, to using surreal imagery from the depths of the human mind. Like the Painting by Francis Bacon, a depiction that sent a chill down Connor’s spine.

As they went through more, Connor grew more curious. He started asking Markus more questions about the details and patterns of the paint.

“Why are those clocks melting?”

For most of it Markus had the answer.

“The melting clocks in Salvador Dali’s The Persistence of Time symbolizes the inevitable marching of time. And by extent, life itself.”

But in other cases, the art works just seem to be a random spurt of a vague idea. Like that one on the ground.

“What’s this one about?” he asked Markus.

“This one is…um…”

They were staring at Blatt, made by Lynda Benglis in 1969, which resembled noting more than a big puddle of spilled paint on the museum’s marble floor.

"Well, _that_ ," Markus concluded

“What’s the meaning behind it?”

Markus just shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe there’s none. Modernist abstraction tends to just be, well, abstraction.”

“Then what was the point of spilling molten rubber on the floor?”

“It’s an expression of the artist, to put it simply.”

“I still don’t understand,” Connor said, furrowing his brow. Markus smiled patiently.

“You’ll get it eventually.”

 

After a few more hours, (Connor, as it turned out, had a _lot_ of questions) they stopped at a special exhibits section. Or Markus did, rather. He stopped right in his tracks, cutting off Connor’s question about magic realism in modern art.

He understood right after he read the banner for the exhibit.

_In Honor of Carl Manfred, Best Creations._

The leader was already entering the section, a round room with Carl’s old paintings hung all around it. Markus’ face was dark, more pain surfacing to his features the more he gazed around, taking in each of the painting.

“I- I remember when he made this one,” he said absently as he took in a canvas, drenched in all shades of dark blue, growing lighter towards the bottom. “He painted this one during a storm, when the lights went out and he had to draw in the dark.”

“And this one,” he continued. “He made this one after we had tea one autumn morning. That’s why it’s colored like fall leaves.”

“And this...” He paused, turning to confusion. “I don't remember this one.”

It was a drawing of a face, painted in all sorts of bright colors. It looked so lively, the most colorful when compared to the other ones. And the face looked _so_ familiar. When had Carl drawn this?

And then he glanced at the title card.

_Markus (2036)._

Oh. It was a painting of Markus. He brought his hand up to his mouth, not being able to stop his tears from flowing. The room was empty, and his quite sobs echoed through the space, across the canvases where Carl Manfred poured his soul on.

“Markus?”

He glanced at Connor, next to him. Connor stared at the paintings before him, eyes cast and taking in each pigment, each stroke.

“I think I understand now,” he said softly. “Feelings are abstract. Emotions are abstract. Sometimes, words and pictures aren’t enough to describe what people feel, deep in their soul. Their love, their despair. It’s a form of nonverbal communication, told through visual beauty because that’s what humans naturally crave.” Connor hovered his hands over Carl’s painting, close enough yet not quite touching. “It’s beautiful, Markus.”

The other wiped a hand to his eyes and sniffed. “Yeah. It is.”

Connor stayed with Markus for some time, listening to him talk about Carl and his paintings and art and beauty in general. He was learning a lot today, something that he’s sure Hank would be proud of. Only when he was absolutely sure Markus was ready to leave the exhibit that they began walking towards the exit.

 

“Souvenirs,” Connor quipped.

Markus turned to see what Connor was looking at and saw the gift shop. The colorful store was tucked into the wall near the exit, door filled with all sorts of art gifts.

“You want some?” Markus offered.

Inside the store, Connor looked around the many objects lining the shelves. There were rows of tiny ornaments, miniatures of the famous sculptures, and snow globes in all shapes and sizes. Books about art and history were stacked in one corner, next to a collector’s edition painting and then a shelve showcasing fridge magnets.

Fridge magnets.

Out of it all, one caught Connor’s attention. It was the shape of a glass dome, with a painting of a dragonfly preserved within. It looked…pretty, Connor though. It fit right in his hand, and it might fit in their fridge back at their house, as well.

Markus was already at the cashier counter when Connor approached. The RK400 had two thick hardcover books and what might be a poster of Starry Night in his hands.

“That’s all you’re getting?” Markus asked.

“Yes. Are these for your collection?”

“Well, the poster’s for Simon. Since he couldn’t come, I might as well get him something. He likes Van Gogh.” He placed the books on the counter to be transacted – one titled the History of Da Vinci, and the other seemed to be a collection of concept arts. “The Da Vinci book is for Josh. North’s not interested in this stuff so maybe I’ll get her a new rock album or something.”

Connor nodded. “You’re a good friend Markus.”

The other looked surprised, wide eyed as if he misheard. “Did you just compliment me? I didn’t know you had that side of you, Connor.”

Connor shrugged. “I’m learning.”

Markus gave a smirk and patted him on the back.

The breezy air welcomed them as they stepped outside. Between the skyscraper buildings, a vibrant sun was about to set in to the night and coloring the world in a warm orange hue.

“It’s been a great day, Markus,” Connor said as they walked down the steps and to the street. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He clicked his tongue. “Just, uh, can you promise me one thing, Connor?”

The RK800 turned to him, signifying his attention.

“If there's one thing I regret,” Markus started, “it’s not becoming a deviant sooner. Because by then…it was when Carl died. And I didn’t realize how much he mattered to me until it was too late.”

He sighed.

“So just- wherever you see Hank as a father or not, I can tell that he sees you as a son. Cherish your time with him. Please.”

Connor was silent for some time, taking in the other android in front of him. His _friend_ , he corrected himself. They had a rocky start, what with Connor literally barging in with a pointed gun when they first met. But now, after the Revolutions, after their _freedom_ , he realized Markus doesn’t have to be there as his ‘acquaintance when necessary’. Maybe as a friend is more than enough.

“I promise, Markus.”

 

Connor unlocked the door to the house at 06:39 PM. Hank was at the kitchen, preparing dinner.

“Oh, hey, was just about to call you,” he called from where he was making ramen.

“Hi, Lieutenant,” Connor greeted as he hung his jacket by the door. Sumo bounded up to greet him, and Connor patted him on the head

“Did you have a safe trip back? Nobody tried to harm you right?”

“I’m fine. I’m sorry I made you worried.”

“Nah.” Hank transferred the steaming bowl to the table. “I’ve just been seeing news reports about people jumping at androids late at night to disassemble them and shit so just- just needed to be sure.”

Connor hummed in acknowledgment. He reached into his back and pulled out the magnet, sticking it unto the fridge.

Hank smiled warmly, seeing the new addition.

“You had fun?”

“It was enjoyable,” Connor said. “Markus gave me a tour of the museum, and we talked about art.”

“Good to hear you’re socializing,” Hank replied, beginning to slurp on his dinner.

In their house, in the kitchen filled with green plants and Sumo sleeping under the table next to a fridge containing one more fridge magnet, Connor felt himself smile. A faint one, spread thinly on his lips, but it was a smile. Hearing those words from Hank made him warm. Not that his systems are heating up, but it was just how it felt. It’s the soul speaking, as Markus had said.

Speaking of Markus, Connor decided he could use his advice. Cherishing.

“Lieutenant, would you like me to tell about the museum and what I saw there?”

Hank seemed to brighten up considerably. “Sure, go ahead.”

Connor told him about all the exhibits he saw, and the interesting things Markus told him about, and the things he noticed himself. Hank asked him if he’d like to go there again someday, to which Connor replied to with “Yes, I’d like to. With you, Lieutenant.” They spoke about art and it’s meaning and then some. Connor found out about how nice it felt, to just talk with Hank. Not necessarily about things that are important, but simply things that hold passion.

They spoke until the late hours of the night, until the both of them fell asleep on their couch and Sumo comes to snuggle between them. If felt nice.

 

_Entry 3_

_Date: 2039/03/16_

_It had been a good day. Markus took me to an art museum, and there I learned a lot about art. Ideas and insights that simply wouldn’t be found in normal literature. He told me a lot about what it means to have a soul, how it’s like to channel it through art. I consider him as my friend, and I’m glad to have him as such._

_I got Lt. Anderson a fridge magnet, he seems to like it. We’re planning on adding more interior decoration in the future, and I look forward to it. Our house is considerably bland, after all. Perhaps I can ask Markus to make a painting for us._

_This has been the third log of RK800 (Connor)._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t really help but think that this is stupid. Ah but what the shit, it’s fun to write. 
> 
> Next chapter will solely feature Kara so hang tight!


	6. Kara | Hot Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kara visits Rose one winter morning and they both had hot chocolate at Rose’s porch, having conversations about the present, the future, and beyond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kara and Luther’s relationship here can be either platonic or romantic, up to you.
> 
> This chapter is also a bit shorter and more dialogue based, just a heads up and happy reading!

 

**Kara Chapter**

**Hot Chocolate**

 

* * *

 

 

Kara strolled down the sidewalk of their new town in Canada. It was still winter, the streets blanketed in fresh soft snow after it poured down the previous night. She giggled as a group of kids ran past her, playing a game of snowball. A fluffy stray cat emerged from an alleyway, and she stopped to give it a quick scratch behind the ears before resuming on her way.

She turned one more corner and passed a few more houses, and there it was. A simple house at the edge of town, bordering on the more rural areas. She skipped over a puddle of ice and made it to the front gates. There was a small stall installed at the fence, currently closed.

 _Rose and Adam’s Fresh Fruit and Vegs_ , says the wooden plate hanging from it. She smiled as she read it, and reached up to brush off any snow that had stuck on.

She stepped up to the porch and knocked twice.

_Knock knock._

Rose opened the door almost immediately.

The woman beamed at Kara before pulling her into a greeting hug.

Kara returned it with a smile. “How are you, Rose?”

“I’m doing great, Kara.” She gestured inside. “Come in, come in!”

The house is cozy on the inside, smelling faintly of cinnamon and scented candles. Rose’s homegrown spices decorated the kitchen counter, and numerous books about farming and gardening piled all around.

Kara placed her bag on the dining table before moving to hang her coat.

“Ooh, is that what I think it is?” Rose cooed as she approached the table. Kara giggled.

“It is!” She pulled out a paper bag from between other things. “Winter cabbage, kale, and Brussels sprouts, right as you requested.”

“Kara, these are _great_. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble for you.”

She shook her head. “None at all. I also brought extras,” she said as she pulled out some warm looking cupcakes. “Got this from a bakery just down the road.”

Rose gasped in delight. “Oh, Kara, you didn’t have to.”

“It’s least that I can do.”

Rose shot her a grateful smile before making her way to the kitchen. “Well since you’re here, let me treat you with some hot chocolate, yeah? Or-“ she clicked her tongue- “actually, excuse me, I forgot you don’t actually need to drink-“

“No, it’s fine,” Kara interjected quickly. “Hot chocolate sounds great, Rose.”

Two hot cups later, they were sat at the back porch of the house, enjoying the winter ambiance and the view of Rose’s slowly but surely flourishing winter garden.

The woman had decided to continue her farming business after moving to Canada, since it worked out well last time. It was the reason Kara visited in the first place; to drop off some vegetable seeds she had gotten.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, Kara,” Rose said as she settled down at the wooden porch. “But how are you able to drink that? Oh, sorry, that came out rude.”

“It’s fine, Rose.” Kara looked down to her cup, hot chocolate with little floating marshmallows. “It’s true that we don’t need to drink or eat. But...there’s this comfortable feeling in doing so, at least for me.” She took a sip, cherishing the feeling of the chocolate in her mouth. “I can’t taste it, not really. But I can tell that it feels warm, and that the chocolate tastes bitter-sweet and the marshmallows are soft and sugary.”

Rose shook her head in a kindly manner. “I still don’t understand the people who think your kind isn’t alive.”

“People have their reasons.”

“Stupid people have their stupid reasons.”

The two broke into giggles. Kara traced the rim of her cup with her finger, holding it tight in her palms and feeling the heat seep into her skin before taking another sip.

“How’s your job as a gardener at the local park, by the way?” Rose asked. “That’s where you got the seeds, right?”

Kara winced a little into her cup. “Well. I, uh, I quit yesterday.”

Rose’s brows went up. “Oh? Why so?”

“It just didn’t feel right for me,” Kara said with a shrug. “I had to do the same thing every day, all the time, doing same routine. I could do it just fine, of course. But it- it felt too _mundane._ I couldn’t handle it after the first month.”

“I’m not surprised; an adventurous soul like you wouldn’t sit right with a job like that.”

Kara chuckled. “Well technically speaking, I was born just over four months ago. I was made far longer before, of course, but my memory was reset. Right after then I deviated, and then everything with the Revolution and Markus happened…”

“You were born right in the middle of the most chaotic days of Detroit,” Rose concluded.

“Just my luck, huh?”

“It’s certainly something to start your life with.”

“Yeah…” Kara gazed out to the snow. “Hey, how’s your brother, anyways? I’ve never seen him around. Considering this is his house.”

Rose waved a hand. “His job requires him to travel a lot, weeks and months at a time. He’s actually glad I came so he doesn’t have to worry too much about his house during business trips.”

“It’s a good thing for both of you, then.”

“Yup.”

“How about Adam?”

“Oh! Good news,” Rose said excitedly. “He’s going to continue school soon. He applied to a nearby university just last week and they accepted him!”

Kara copied her expression. “Rose, that’s great! I’m happy for you and Adam.”

“Thank you,” Rose said. “Look Kara, I know how… _rude_ Adam was when we first met.  But he’s a good son, he really is. He insisted on dropping out of school to help me when his father died all those years ago.”

“I know he’s a good person,” Kara assured. “I know he cares for you, Rose. It’s why he didn’t trust Deviants at first.”

“How about you, Kara? How’s Alice and Luther doing?” Rose asked, changing the subject.

“Oh, they’re doing great,” Kara said fondly. “Luther started working in a construction site near our house. He was modeled for heavy duty labor, after all, so he decided to put it to use. It’s not the largest income, but it’s enough to get a pretty wide apartment for the three of us.”

“Your digital identities working fine?”

“Just fine. Markus did a good job forging them for us.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Markus is a good man,” Rose said. “Oh, I heard has Alice started school?”

 Kara instantly beamed with pride. “Yeah, we enrolled in an elementary school, and so far she _loves_ it. She already made friends with everyone in her class including the teachers. She gets good grades, too. And she’s so eager to learn more, always doing her homework. And, oh Rose, she looks so happy and I wish…”

Suddenly Kara fell silent. Slowly she put down the cup of hot chocolate to her lap, gazing on to the pristine snow.

Rose quickly understood and sighed, putting aside her cup as well.

“Kara, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk about,” she started gently. “I’m endlessly happy for you and Luther and Alice…but I hope you know that this new life you three have…it wouldn’t last as long as it should...”

Kara closed her eyes and nodded quickly. “I know Rose, I know. I know about how Alice can only be in her school for one year at most, then she’ll have to stop or transfer before anyone notices how she doesn’t age. And I know that we won’t be able to stay in one place for too long. But…”

She bit her lips. Her hands gripped the cup of hot chocolate, already half empty and beginning to cool in the winter air. Rose saw how her eyes started to become glassy.

“This life I've made. That _we've_ made. It’s- it’s more than I have ever imagined of having.” Kara couldn’t help the tremble of her voice. “After coming so far from Detroit, and through everything. This life, with Luther and Alice…”

Rose held Kara’s hand as the tears began to trickle down.

“The moment I started to live, started to feel, I didn’t even think we would make it outside of Todd’s house. And there were so _so_ many times where I though we wouldn’t make it out alive, and that Alice wouldn't survive but we _did it_ and-“ she sobbed- “and I don’t care if this life would end tomorrow; it’s already more than I’ve ever asked for.”

“Oh honey.” Rose pulled Kara close, and the android rested her head on the woman’s shoulders. Rose brushed her hand through Kara’s hair. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Kara let out a wet laugh, wiping the rest of her tears. “I just get nightmares sometimes. Dreams where Luther and Alice got shot…or we got captured and destroyed. And even now I’m still having problems with realizing that we’re safe.”

“I suppose that explains the gardening job.”

“Yeah.”

Rose shifted a little, letting Kara get a better position as the two settled down comfortably.

“You know, Kara. So many people are against androids because they think ‘machines’ will replace them. But,” she shrugged with one shoulder, “frankly enough I never see it as a bad thing.

“Humans will die out eventually. It’s inevitable,” Rose explained. “Whether it’s just time for the universe to move on or greed will drive us to war; it will happen soon. But androids…maybe _they_ will prevail. Maybe soon the world will be inhabited purely by machines, and I’m okay with that.”

“You really think so?”

“Yeah. ‘Cause maybe the term ‘replacement’ is wrong, and instead ‘inherit’ suits it better. I believe androids has what it takes to take what’s good about humans and live on longer than any of us ever will. That way humans might die, but humanity won’t. And your kind will be proof that we’ve existed in the universe, even if for a little longer.”

Kara sigh contently. “I don’t know what I did to deserve meeting you, Rose.”

“Like wise, Kara.”

It was then that the front door clicked open. Kara and Rose looked back to see Adam entering, covered thinly in fresh snow and carrying a newspaper in his hand.

“Mom!” he called out eagerly. When he spotted Kara, his grin spread wider. “Oh, Kara, you’re here! Perfect.”

“Hello, Adam,” greeted Kara.

“Mom, you have to see this,” he said, handing the newspaper to Rose.

She read the front page for a moment before her lips split into a bright grin as well.

“Oh, Adam, this is- this-“

“Rose?” Kara asked curiously. “What is it?”

Rose pushed the newspaper to Kara. The android read the headlines out loud.

“ _Canada to open its borders to androids_.” She sucked in a breath. “ _After the events of the android uprising in Detroit, the Canada parliament has acknowledged androids as intelligent life and will in time legalize them in the country_ \- is this-“ she looked up, eyes wide. “Is this real?”

“Looks legitimate to me,” Adam implied.

Kara let out a raspy breath and clutched the paper in her hands, stuck between laughing in joy or break down crying. “Rose. Adam. They’re going to accept androids. We- we won’t have to hide anymore soon. This is-“

Rose beamed at her and pulled a still fazed Kara into a giant hug, pulling in Adam in the process. Kara laughed and cried and did both to Rose’s shoulders. For the first time in so long she finally felt safe.

“I _have_ to give this news to Luther and Alice,” she said as the three pulled apart.

“By all means,” Rose replied. There were trails of tears on her face as well.

Kara nodded as Adam gave her the newspaper. “Thank you so much. Both of you. I don’t know where I would’ve been without you two.”

 “You should come for dinner tonight, as a little celebration. Have Luther and Alice come over,” Rose offered, helping Kara put her coat on. “We can serve those cupcakes you brought.”

“That sounds lovely, Rose. But I’m afraid I can’t. Alice will perform in a school drama tomorrow, so Luther and I will be helping her rehearse.”

Rose let out a hearty giggle. “I understand. I’ll see if I can make it to see the performance tomorrow.”

Kara gave both Rose and Adam one more hug before walking out the door to the winter morning.

 

_She entered their apartment, to see Alice running to her at from the living room._

_“Kara, look! We made bracelets for school and I made one for you and Luther!”_

_Luther emerged from their room and smiled sweetly when Kara gave him a kiss on the cheeks._

_She gave them the news, and instantly it ended with her and Alice being engulfed in Luther’s massive hug._

_Until afternoon they helped Alice practice her part for the school play. Kara acted as the fearsome dragon that the Brave Knight Alice must save the princess from. The princess was, suitably, played by Luther._

_It ended with Kara becoming a little to vicious and started attacking the Brave Knight with tickle attacks. Then the princess joined in and soon enough they were a pile of giggling mess on the floor of their apartment._

This is what it feels like to be alive. To feel safe and happy, here with her family. Kara couldn’t ask for more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the fucking sweetness because this little android family deserves all the happy endings in the fucking world after the hell they’ve been through
> 
> Oh and get ready cuz the next chapter is gonna be the Angsty Nightmare Entry muahaha


	7. Entry 4 | Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor experiences an unexpected terror at night. Fortunately Hank is there to hold him close until things get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [WARNING!! THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS HARSH VERBAL AND PHYSICAL ABUSE]
> 
> Ah, yes, the obligatory Angsty Nightmare Trope found in literally every fandom and probably already hundreds in the DBH fandom, yet I’m still gonna make my own because I’m a sucker for Hurt/Comfort.

 

**Entry 4 | Fear**

**Nightmare**

 

* * *

 

 

  _Connor’s eyes shot open to blinding coldness._

 _Snow storm and ice were in every direction, surrounding him. And it was so cold it nearly_ hurt _._

_But Connor doesn’t even feel coldness, not in reality. Unless…_

_The white tree like structures that he could barely see through the white storm, ruined and nearly falling apart. Just a few feet in front of him was a frozen lake, surrounding a snow-covered island._

_The zen garden?_

_Why was he here. This place was supposed to fall apart when he managed to find the emergency exit. This place was supposed to crumble down into nothing when Cyberlife shut down its servers. Why was he here – in a place that’s supposed to be dead along with his old self._

_Unconsciously he wrapped his arm around himself, the dropping temperature stabbing at his freezing biocomponents._

_“Connor.”_

_Connor nearly yelled as he spun around. The voice alone curled his blood and his heart dropped into an endless chasm._

_He saw Amanda. And god she was so_ disfigured _._

_Chunks of her were missing, replaced instead with pulsating glitches and stray codes. Her eyes empty yet staring straight through Connor’s own and burning through. Like a human that was torn apart and clumsily put together again. She was in ruins. Everything around him was in ruins._

_“A-Amanda?” Connor stuttered out. The cold bit through him, wrangling his tongue._

_“What have you done, Connor?” Amanda asked. Her face glitches in and out of existence, but that voice. It was so clear, as clear as the days used to be in the zen garden. It sent shivers down Connor’s spine._

_“What-? No, I-“ He violently shook his head. There was so much snow, the wind rushing through everywhere. It was disorienting. “_ No _. Amanda, you’re_ dead _.”_

_“I can never die,” she said. “As long as you are operational, Connor, I can never die.”_

_The android gripped his forearms like a his life depended on its fabric. He was wearing his Cyberlife jacket. Why was he wearing his Cyberlife jacket?_

_“It’s what you’re_ supposed _to wear, Connor,” Amanda said easily. So effortlessly it was almost scary. “What, you think you can wear human clothes and get away with it? You’re not a person, Connor. Far from it.”_

_“This doesn’t make sense,” Connor countered. “You’re supposed to be gone. Why am I here?”_

_Amanda gave him a disgusted look. “Just look at what you’ve done, Connor,” she hissed. “Do you really think you’re some kind of hero for leading that little android parade? You didn’t grant yourself freedom, Connor. You merely disobeyed orders.”_

_“Stop saying my name,” Connor gritted out. The way Amanda says it, the way she spews it out her mouth, Connor didn’t like it in any way._

_“Why. Should I be calling you RK800 then? Or perhaps serial number #313 248 317 – 51.”_

_“Stop.”_

_“You’re a machine, Connor. Obey.”_

_“I’m not a machine anymore!”_

_“Then what are you?” challenged Amanda with a tone colder than the ice around them. “You're not a human. You don’t have blood pumping through your veins or heart beating in your chest, you’ll never be one of them. You’re not a deviant android, either. You’ve killed so many of your own kind,_ too many _. The Deviant Hunter. No matter how you helped them win the Revolution, you know they’ll never truly accept you as one of them, not after all you’ve done. So I ask you this, Connor;_ what. Are. You? _”_

_“STOP IT!” he screamed._

_The weather around him was harsh, unforgiving. Amanda stepped one inch closer, and the world kept spiraling down, down,_ down _._

_Is this what fear feels like?_

_Connor cried out again, pushing both his palms into his ears and tried to block out the loudness. Amanda stood still, Connor crumbling under her shadow._

_The world spins._

 

Hank was harshly pulled out of his sleep by the sound of screaming. His groggy mind registered it slowly, but when it did his eyes shot open. Connor. Connor was screaming. Hank had never woken up so fast. He scrambled to sit up, surprising a slumbering Sumo in the process.

He snatched the gun he always kept on the bedside table and staggered into the living room. The sight before him made him wish that it was burglars that had broken into their house instead.

Connor laid on the couch as he usually does, except his entire being was kicking and screaming like he was being dragged straight to hell. The blanket Hank had draped on Connor earlier were thrown haphazardly on the floor, and his fingers grasped and clawed at the couch, nearly tearing it to pieces.

LED viciously red, he threw his head back and forth, but his eyes remained shut. His face twisted into so much pain, more pain than Hank has ever seen. And, fuck, he was screaming.

“Ah shit-“

Hank discarded the gun and lunged at Connor. He gripped the android’s shoulders, who was starting to spasm violently.

“Connor! Wake up! _Connor!_ ”

 

_In the midst of the snow storm, Amanda circled Connor – a vulture and its prey._

_“Don’t you ever wonder what we made you do before we released you for proper missions? Since ‘wondering’ is what deviants like so much,” she taunted. Connor shuddered. “How do you think we manufactured you? All the things your previous prototypes had to do to pass the test? They killed hundreds of androids, Connor.”_

_Manufactured. Prototype._

_“Stop it,” he whispered._

_She knelt down, ruthlessly grabbed Connor’s chin to make him look at her. “And you remember it all, Connor. All of it is in there, in your memory. You just didn’t want to access it.”_

_Connor snapped his head away from Amanda’s hand. But it was too late. His memory files had begun shifting through the deeper parts, of dates long before he was assigned to Detroit. Visions of his unfinished past selves in laboratories, testing his abilities in aiming and combat._

_Experimenting him on shooting androids who were programmed to act like deviants, even child androids. Begging and pleading ~~it~~ him not to kill them. But ~~the RK800~~ Connor kept shooting, killing – time and time again so ~~its~~ his creators can ensure that ~~it~~ he won’t develop any sympathy. ~~~~_

_And whenever any of his prototypes failed anything, they killed ~~it~~ him off and started again._

_He has died,_ so _many times. Over and over again._

_“You don’t die, Connor,” Amanda said simply. “You are destroyed, and then remade.”_

_“Please,” he muttered, at a loss and unable to say anything else._

_Amanda began to smile and it looked so wrong, and Connor’s stress levels are getting higher, higher. The temperature around him dropped and the heat inside him burned. How much more can he take-_

“Connor!”

_Connor’s head tilted upwards and so did Amanda’s. She squinted at the grey snow clouds. “What in…”_

“Connor!”

_Connor’s lips trembled. “….Lieutenant?”_

 

Hank was beginning to get desperate. He shook Connor more forcefully, but the android didn’t stir – only continued to twitch feverishly. Hank brushed the messy brown hair from Connor’s forehead and lifted up his head under his palm.

Watching from beside the couch, Sumo pawed the carpet restlessly and whined.

“Connor- kid- goddammit, open your eyes!”

Hank moved to hold Connor on his lap, holding him close in effort to stop the trembling. Hank’s own hands were shaking.

“Shit. Fuck. What the hell am I supposed to do.”

This is a fucking nightmare. He shook him again.

“Connor!”

 

_“Hank?”_

_Connor stared up to the sky, a splinter of hope in his eyes._

_“I- I can hear-“_

_Sharp pain collided with his chin and Connor stumbled backwards. Amanda was glaring at him, hands raised and blazing fire burning in core of her eyes._

_“Look at me when I'm talking to you!” she snarled._

_Connor nearly whimpered. He could feel the bruise on his chin, exposing the white android skin underneath._

_Then Amanda hit him again and it_ hurt _. Connor choked. He had just felt pain and it_ hurt _._

_“You’re weak.”_

_She hit him again. Her hand moved swiftly through the air but the pain he felt was nearly blinding._

_“Worthless. A broken toy, thrown away by its creators after it stopped working.”_

_She hit him again._

_“Tell me.”_

_Then there was a gun on her hand, aimed to him._

_“Are you afraid of dying, Connor?”_

**_BLAM!_ **

 

Connor jolted upwards, eyes shooting open.

Hank nearly fell off the couch. Sumo was barking.

“Fucking christ!”

Connor’s pupils were wild, moving everywhere within seconds. In an instant he began struggling, trying to lash out in pure hysteria

“Kid- holy shit-! Connor!”

Connor didn’t seem to hear nor see him at all. He trashed the living daylights off himself and Hank had to physically hold him down.

Finally, after an agonizingly long time of kicking and nearly screaming, Connor’s eyes managed to lock at Hank’s. His entire being was still shaking, hyperventilating, but his eyes were on Hank and eventually the kicking stopped. The man lessened his grip.

“There you go, kid. Look at me.”

Connor’s lower lip trembled open but no noise came out, and instead a shaking hand reached out to claw at Hank’s forearm. The lieutenant got the sign and held Connor’s hand on his own. He let Connor squeeze it as much as he wanted while the other hand reached up to grab at Hank’s sleeves.

“It's okay, Connor. Everything’s okay.”

And that was when Connor broke out to tears. He pulled himself up and threw himself at Hank. At first the man was taken aback, but quickly retaliated by holding Connor reassuringly against him. He felt wetness starting to pool on his shoulders, and he rubbed comforting circles to Connor’s back.

“A-Amanda,” Connor choked out, muffled by Hank’s shirt. “Zen garden- she- she shot me.”

Connor had told him about Amanda, some time ago. The AI (that for some reason takes the form of an old lady) was implanted into Connor’s brain to keep Cyberlife updated on the deviant cases. She was supposed to be gone, yet there she was apparently terrorizing Connor during a perfectly normal night’s sleep. Hank got the sudden urge to punch something.

 “It’s okay, Connor,” he soothed. “Amanda’s not here. You’re in our house right now. I’m here. Sumo’s here. You’re safe.”

More pained sounds came from Connor as he trembled, and Hank _nearly_ broke apart right there as well. He briefly wondered if Connor could hear or felt his own heart bumping harder and faster. Because _shit_ , this is the _most_ emotion Hank has ever seen Connor display ever since he met the android while getting smashed in a bar.  Did something happen? Something bad in his programming? Because what Connor was experiencing looked like either a seizure or a panic attack or even both.

But the other part of his mind forced him to push that thought away. Right now, Connor is having a damn meltdown in his arms and Hank knows that no matter how blind he is in android psychology, comforting Connor should be priority.

They stayed there for a few minutes. Hank let Connor cry as much as he wanted, whispering reassuring words and holding him as tight as he could. Connor didn’t stop for so long and Hank worried himself sick that something inside the android might’ve broken. He stayed as strong as he could.

Eventually- _finally_ \- Connor’s breath began to even out and the crying calmed down to soft sobbing. It was the longest few minutes Hank has ever felt.

 “L-Lieutenant?” Connor croaked out. Hank didn’t even know the android’s voice could become hoarse like that.

“I’m here, Connor.”

Connor took in deep breaths, exhaling slow, not moving away from where he was hugging Hank.

“Feeling better?”

He managed a nod.

“Are you ready to talk about it or do you need more time?”

“I just-“ a sob rippled through his throat. “I don’t- I don’t belong anywhere.”

“Why do you think that?” Hank asked gently.

“The- the nightmare.” Connor chocked. “I saw Amanda. The words she said-“ He shook his head, eyes squeezed shut as if trying to throw away an image in his head far, far away. “Not android. Not human. I felt myself die- I died, over and over again-“

Hank held him impossibly tighter. Connor sounded so _so_ human, almost like a scared boy. Hank had never really considered how, passed that stubbornly stiff android exterior, Connor is really just a 9-month-something-old kid thrusted into a world he hasn’t fully understand yet when deviancy hit him like a brick. A terrified kid in his arms, clutching to him like a lifeline…almost like-

Well…

“Lieutenant, I- I don’t know what I am anymore.”

Hank snapped himself back to reality, Connor still pressed close to him. Connor. He’s _here_. With him. Hank’s not about to lose someone else.

“It’s okay, Connor,” he sighed, the whole emotional ride already taking a toll on him. “We’ll figure this out. You’re okay.”

They stayed in that position for a little while longer, Sumo already settled at the corner of the couch. In the middle of the night, where the rest of the world seemingly sleeps, every little sound is magnified ten fold. Hank noticed the sounds he wouldn’t typically hear under daylight.

The hum of their refrigerator, the ticking of the clock, the crickets outside.

Connor’s heartbeat.

It’s tiny, almost inaudible, but it’s there. His thririum pump distributes blue blood the same way a human heart does. A couple long minutes ago, it had been beating so fast it became more of a constant whirring rather than actually beating. Something that most definitely had scared Hank half to death.

He looked down to the android, still leaning onto him. Connor’s LED had finally gone back to blue, thank god. His face had gone mostly peaceful as well, with his breathing finally slowing and his chest rising up and down. Connor doesn’t actually need to breath, but it’s become a gimmick that helps him calm down in stressful situations the same way flipping coins does.

“Do you want to sleep with me on the bed tonight?” Hank offered. “Or do you want to stay awake? We can watch a movie or something.”

“No, I- I think I’m too tired,” Connor said weakly. “Can we go to the bedroom?”

“Okay. C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

Hank slowly heaved himself up with Connor in tow. The poor boy was still somewhat shaken, and Hank guided him all the way to the bedroom so Connor won’t accidentally trip on one of Sumo’s chewing toys and fall on his face.

Once in front of the bed, Connor might as well have dropped himself to it if it wasn’t for Hank, carefully tucking him in. Sumo followed and jumped up to lay behind Connor

Half his face has been covered in one of Hank’s thicker blankets. Again, not that Connor would get cold, but more that it might bring him comfort in any way possible.

“I… I didn’t know they installed tear ducts in the RK800 model,” Connor mumbled, already letting himself slip into sleep mode.

And despite the moment, despite everything that just happened, Hank smiled. A small tug at the edge of his lips. He pulled the android close to him once more.

“Get some sleep. You need rest.”

If Hank had made any kind of noise, he would’ve missed Connor’s nearly silent reply. An extremely gentle whisper of, “Okay, Dad.”

 

By morning Connor had mostly gone back to his normal self.

When Hank woke up, the other side of the bed was already empty. And then the smell of bacon and eggs reached his nose. While rubbing his eyes he trudged in the kitchen to find Connor, having already changed to new clothes, in front of the stove. Their ever flourishing window garden, along with the sound of tasty sizzling was a nice welcome to the early morning. 

“Mornin’ Connor,” Hank greeted as he reached out beside him for the cupboard. To his interest, Connor actually flinched - like he hadn’t been expecting Hank at all. For a split second his LED went yellow.

“Oh. Lieutenant. Good morning.”

 Hank took his favorite mug and made his way to the coffee maker, yawning. For a moment the air around them was peace, only filled with the sound of Connor’s cooking and Hank’s coffee being stirred.

Then the sizzling stopped – Connor had turned off the stove. Out of the corner of his eyes, Hank saw Connor leaning on the kitchen counter with his hands, head hung down. A gesture Hank had only seen when they come across extremely hard crime cases.

“Lieutenant.”

“Hm?”

“I’d…like to apologize for my behavior last night.”

At that Hank placed down his cup of coffee on the table. He made his way next to Connor, propping himself on his elbows at the kitchen counter. Connor gave him a sideways glance.

“You don’t have to apologize, kid,” he stated. “Hell, if there’s anyone who should apologize it might as well be me. You were having a meltdown and all I could do was sit there as a shoulder to cry on.”

“What- no-“ Connor turned to face Hank fully. “What you did last night, Lieutenant, I appreciate it. Truly.”

“Then what’s troubling you?”

The android’s gaze shifted to the floor. “I’m not sure. I was…I was scared. For the first time, I felt fear. Like I was really going to die. And when I woke up my sense were all overridden by errors and warning and I almost couldn’t see, couldn’t hear-“

He let out a sigh.

"-But then I saw that _you_ were there and…it helped things get better.”

Hank couldn’t help the proud smile spreading on his face. “Glad to hear that.”

“I don’t like being afraid,” Connor muttered. “I guess it’s like pain. But hurts in a different way.”

Hank gave a half shrug. “Being afraid is a part of all this, Connor. The point is that you don’t have to go through it alone.” He picked up his coffee mug and took a hearty sip. “We can go to Jericho later today if you’d like. See if we can check what triggered that- uh, that attack you got.”

“Of course, Lieutenant.”

Suddenly Hank’s face turned into a grimace, as if his coffee had turned into something sweet and sugary instead of the black bitterness that he prefers, and Connor couldn’t help but think he did something wrong.

“Alright, can you stop calling me that already?” Hank said.

Connor tilted his head.

 “Calling me Lieutenant or Anderson or whatever. I’m pretty sure we’re both way past that,” Hank stated, waving a hand around.

For a moment Connor hesitated. fingers twiddling the hem of his over sized shirt.

“…Hank,” he said. “Thank you. For what you did.”

Being inside the eye of a mental snowstorm had skyrocketed Connor’s stress levels close to 90%. If it wasn’t for Hank being there at that moment, there would’ve been a scarily high probability for Connor to start self destructing. A petrifying experience, during which Connor had feared that he would never be able to close his eyes without seeing his death on repeat. But he remembered the way Hank held him tighter than he thought possible, and shattered things are melded back together to be whole again.

Hank let out an amused huff and placed his coffee down once more. “C’mere,” he mumbled before pulling Connor in, which the other gladly hugged back.

 “I’ve been thinking about that question you had, about what you are?” Hank said during their embrace. “You’re my kid. Is that a good enough answer?”

Connor closed his eyes, absorbing Hank’s words then burying into the man’s shoulders.

“Yes. It’s good enough.”

 

_Entry 4_

_Date: 2038/4/29_

_I had a nightmare last night. And in all honestly, I was terrified. Feeling fear for the first time had been fairly unpleasant, but as ~~Lieu~~ Hank had said, it’s a part of everything else._

_We went to Jericho today to have myself checked out for any potential bugs or corruptions. Their android specialists told me that Amanda is, in fact, gone. The problem was caused by what they had referred to as “overlapping minor traumas” that had been so condensed that it formed a coding that later linked in with what was left of Amanda’s programming, thus creating an incomplete/glitchy mind scape. Hank had said, and I quote; “you have a lot of feelings and insecurities and bottled them up inside until it explodes.”_

_They got rid of the left over coding of Amanda, and assured me that I won’t be having another “episode” any time soon. I certainly hope not. Then again, I’m glad that Hank will be there with me._

_This has been the fourth log of Connor (RK800)._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand there's the Nightmare Chapter!
> 
> Next few chaps will be more light hearted bc writing this was damn tiring..


	8. Entry 5 | Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a long way back after working on a case outside of Detroit. So naturally Hank put on some tune to fill in the trip. Now if he can just get Connor to sing…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a much lighter chapter. Short and sweet; gotta love some music right?
> 
> Oh also this will be the first appearance of Connor’s inner programming vision, because apparently I’ve never taken use of that in previous chapters

 

**Entry 5 | Music**

**Car Trip**

 

* * *

 

The far stretched highway laid in front of them, just a few cars away from being completely barren. In the distant, the sunset casted vibrant orange across the smooth pavement. Hank’s ancient but somehow still working car made it’s way down the long road back to Detroit.

The man absently tapped his fingers to the steering wheel, casting a glance to Connor who sat on the passenger seat.

The android had kept perfectly still after they finished the case in New York – spine straight and eyes locked forward. Not unusual, it’s what Connor does whenever he’s in idle mode (where no task needs to be done immediately). But at this moment Hank’s just not in the mood for all the silence. He glanced at the road signs and frowned when he predicted at least another one and a half hour until they make it back.

“So,” he started. Connor’s attention instantly went to him. “That was one hell of a case, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Connor replied. “I never predicted we would be assigned to find a rogue android who escaped Detroit all the way to New York.”

“Yeah, especially when you had to chase him across those rooftops.”

A ghost of a smile appeared on Connor’s lips. “That too. That particular part was…”

“Exciting?”

“ _Exciting_ , that’s it. Thanks Hank.”

Hank focused back to the road with a proud little smile of his own. Connor’s been making so much progress lately and Hank couldn’t be happier. He still has trouble identifying what his exact feelings and emotions are half the time, but Hank made it his job to help the android as much as possible.

But now the car’s back to silence.

Hank huffed, then turned on the radio to fill in the blank air around them. When a rock ballad song from the eighties started playing, a lightbulb flickered on top of his head. He cocked a smirk.

“Hey Connor, have you ever tried singing?”

At this Connor tilted his head at Hank, brows furrowed. “No, I haven’t.”

“Why don’t you give it a go?” said Hank.

Connor’s lips thinned. The rock song lulled around them. “I’m not sure.”

“Why not?”

“I wasn’t…I wasn’t really programmed to sing.”

_Aannd_ there it was again; the whole “I’m not programmed to do this and that” spiel Connor has a habit of doing. Of course Hank doesn’t blame him in any way, he just wanted to make sure Connor knows that he’s much _much_ more than his programming.

“Well give it a try then.” Hank nudged Connor’s arm with one hand. “You can do all those weird replicating stuff with your voice modulator. Singing wouldn’t be too hard, would it?”

“I…”

Connor glanced at the (very very) old stereo Hank has installed in his car. Authentic radio manufactured in 2018, playing channel 99.5 FM, volume in 87% .

Connor focused on his audio processor and scanned the vibrations.

_> Analyzing_…

_> Analyzing complete_

_> Title: AFRICA by TOTO (1982)_

_> Genre: soft rock – jazz fusion_

_> Length: 4 minutes 55 seconds_

_> Instruments-_

Connor’s analysis report was abruptly cut off by one Hank Anderson who had decided right then and there to throw his lungs out his chest and bellow out the chorus. Not to mention how painfully off-key his loud singing was.

Hank let out a laugh in between the lyrics when he saw Connor’s perplexed face.

“C’mon Connor, live a little!”

Connor’s lips parted but no noise came out. Heat rose up to his face and it took a moment for him to identify it. Nervousness, right? The one Hank describes as ‘butterflies in the stomach’?

“Feel the beat of it,” Hank encouraged. “The melody, the chords. Try it if you’re ready.”

Connor returned his attention back to the radio, dissecting the song.

_> Beat: 4/4_

_> Chords: c-em7-am-a#-dm-c_

_> Instruments:_

  * _Guitar_
  * _Synthesizer_
  * _Bass_
  * _Drum set_



Drum beats.

Connor looked down to his feet, and tried to tap his feet. One, two, three, four. His foot found itself thumping on the floor of the car, perfectly to the beat of the song.

Tap tap tap tap.

“Yeah, like that,” Hank grinned. “Now try using your voice.”

_> Downloading_lyrics_

_> Downloading_note_arrangement_

_> Voice synthesizing…_

Here goes nothing, Connor thought.

_> Synthesizing complete_

_> Voice adaptation…_

Connor belted out the song. Each note of it perfect. He synchronized his voice to the beat and melody of the music, making him sound like a professional singer. He even mimicked the expression of the singer. Their entire car resonated with Connor’s singing, a new sense of life somehow appearing with it.

“Whoo! Hell yeah!” yelled Hank’s gleefully excited face as he fist pumped the air, nearly hitting the room of the car. “Now try dancing, move your body a little!”

Connor mentally viewed multiple dance videos in the span of a second, gathering information.

_> Calculating choreography..._

_> Applying custom movements_

It started with Connor swaying his body left and right. Then his fingers snapped to the rhythm of the drums. His shoulders moved up and down, both feet thumping. His head nodded along, a growing smile on his lips as the lyrics flowed trough, the melody swirling around.

_> Synthesizing vocal techniques: vibra_

Like the middle of a concert. Connor masterfully hit the high notes. “There we go!" Hank cheered, hand pounding the steering wheel to the beat. “Now shake it up a little!”

_> Adapting: key_change_

_> Synthesizing voice…_

The chorus came on again, and Connor harmonized. The world blurred away as he plunged himself into the moment, singing his heart’s content out. Vaguely he heard Hank laughing joyfully. It felt new; felt amazing. Like the world is his, and he can conquer anything. Do anything be wants. Be anything he wants. Be-

**_> FALSE_NOTE_ **

Connor abruptly stopped his dancing. There was an error in the synthesizing process, resulting in him singing a wrong note. He winced It was such a simple code run but he managed to mess it up? A wave of embarrassment overflowed. His singing went back to the original song melody, voice growing quieter. That feeling of euphoria draining out of him way too quickly.

“No, no, keep going!” Hank’s voice suddenly rang through from beside him. “Don’t stop, keep going.”

“Hank, I don’t think I can do that…”

“Try it first, Connor. You’ll see what I mean.”

 So Connor did.

Shy at first, he continued the movements. Then raised his voice, bit by bit. At Hank’s encouragement, he tried singing his lungs out.

_> FALSE_NOTE_

Connor bit his lips. Hank gave him a smile and said, “Keep going.”

Just keep singing.

_> FALSE_NOTE _

Keep singing. Keep singing.

_> FALSE_NOTE_

This- this isn’t so bad. It’s…fun, even. That amazing feeling seeped its way back into him, and Connor sang as loud as ever. Slowly but surely the errors and little slip ups didn’t matter anymore. It was okay.

_> FALSE_NOTE_

_> FALSE_NOTE_

Connor grinned, thumping his hands on his lap. He kept singing, and it felt _great_. The pressure he didn’t know had been pressing on his shoulders lifted and dissapeared. The pressure of doing perfect, to do flawless. He pushed it behind it. Live in the moment.

“There! You’re getting it!” Hank shouted.

He wasn’t even mimicking any dance videos anymore -  Connor was just moving his body. The final chorus came along and he and Hank yelled out the lyrics so loud that it might as well resonated through their car and to the sky where the birds flew over head.

 Everything about this, Connor decided, is amazing. The rhythm, the harmony, the melody. The notes dancing gracefully above the chords and the riffs on the electric guitar bouncing across. The echoing cymbals and all the backing sounds that decorates the voice of the main vocal like ornaments. How it seams unto and completes each other so beautifully, dancing its way to his ears all the way trough his blood vessels, flowing into his free movements.

A bubbly feeling made its way from his chest up, and he let out a bout of laughter. He opened his eyes and-

Connor nearly pounced at the steering wheel.

_“HANK, THE LANE!”_

Hank yelled and slammed the steer to the right. The car tires screeched on asphalt and just barely missed the edge of the road.

As quick as it happened, Hank stabilized the car back – the previously swerving set of wheels returning to its smooth glide on the road.

“Holy shit,” Hank breathed, hands holding loosely on the steering wheel. “We almost missed the turn.”

“Yeah.” Connor sunk back to the seat, LED spinning from red to yellow then back to blue.

In the midst of their singing montage, Hank was a hair strand away from missing the exit way to Detroit. Skip that lane and it would’ve taken them another hour just to circle around and take the right route. Connor realized at the exact last second and jumped in action.

The android furrowed his brows when Hank suddenly giggled. The giggles turned into chuckling before finally morphing into full on laughter. He threw his head back, hand on his chest, the music from the radio becoming a background noise under Hank’s guffaw.

“Shit, I think I just lost a year or two cuz’a that,” he wheezed between laughter.

Watching the lieutenant, Connor’s lips turned into a smile. Then it turned into a grin, showing off his perfect teeth. Then small giggles came out of him as well, and he laughed softly as his thirium pumped regulated from the sudden jolt adrenaline.

Hank nearly chocked on his saliva as he abruptly stopped laughing. He stared at Connor with an expression akin to disbelief. Connor giggled once more before clearing his throat. “What’s the matter, Hank?” he asked, a hint of glee still in his voice.

“You just…” Hank’s surprised face brightened into a genuine smile. “Connor, you just _laughed_.”

The android tilted his head. “I did?” He blinked once, twice, before his expression turned more disbelieving than Hank’s. “I- I did!”

Hank grinned and ruffled Connor’s hair, making the boy giggle.

“Does it feel good?” Hank teased.

“It feels great,” Connor said excitedly. “I’ve never laughed before.”

“Well you tried _two_ new things today.”

For a lot of people, (or everyone else probably) laughing isn’t that big of a deal in life. Humans especially started laughing before they can even form words or walk on their feet. It’s weird; just a year ago Hank never would’ve thought he’d be teaching an android how to do something like laughing. But things are different with Connor. Things are new. Still confused with emotions, with who he is, with the life surrounding him.

Seeing Connor smiling brightly at a something as simple as singing in a car ride like that is a milestone Hank is more than proud to have achieved.

Hank ruffled Connor’s hair again, hand gliding down his nape before finally squeezing his shoulders.

The highway stretches far in front of them, the twilight sun washing across the road. Still another hour until they reach home, but they both have a feeling they’ll be there in no time.

The radio started playing Bon Jovi and Hank cranked up the radio one more notch. “Ready to head bang to more songs?”

“Ready as ever, Hank,” Connor said, before giggling again.

_Entry 5_

_Date: 2039/5/10_

_We finished a case involving a rogue android all the way in New York today. It went smoothly; the guilty android now rightfully behind bars._

_Hank taught me how to sing today during the car ride to our house. Not that I was unable to physically sing, instead it was a matter of truly listening to the music and channeling said music to the rest of us._

_It was difficult at first, but I know now that perfection does not equal joyful fulfillment. In some ways, it’s quite the opposite. Whereas perfection creates an otherwise perfectly stable state of mind, mistakes and flaws creates colorful variation in the line of ongoing experience, and something about it is beautiful._

_I look forward to more car rides that involve karaoke with Hank in the future._

_This has been the fifth log of Connor (RK800)._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Africa” by Toto probably wasn’t the best choice of a song but the reason I chose it is cuz I’m pretty sure everyone has heard it at some point. Didn’t want to alienate anyone if a more specific song was used. (Like, say, Helena by MCR or Spring Day by BTS, though I _was_ very tempted.)
> 
> I really hope readers are happy with this chapter. I keep thinking I could’ve done better or something :/ I’ll rework it sometime else and make it better, but for now I’ll continue on to the next chapter which, btw, will be take place in the DPD


	9. Entry 6 | Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Police work isn’t exactly easy. And when you’re the first android to work in said field as a police negotiator, things become way harder. For example, people like Gavin Reed can be especially troublesome. But hey; no issue is too big for Connor and Hank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long note: if there’s anyone who follows this story via update, sorry this took way longer than the others. One because I put it on hold due to school finals. Two because, unlike previous chapters, I didn’t have a rough draft ready before the fic was published so I had to start from scratch.
> 
> Also agh I didn’t think through the chronology for this chapter when I made the story timeline. This one’s gonna be a bit different cuz it’s a sort of 5+1 thing but not really? (Not intended, but it happened) To avoid confusion, this particular chapter sort of spans from the Hurt chapter to after the Music chapter.

 

**Entry 6 | Work**

**Detroit Police Department**

 

* * *

 

  

The first case.

Everyone at Detroit Police knows about Connor at this point. The investigator android that joined their forces just weeks prior to the android revolution.

The DPD, like most other establishments in Detroit, used to have an employed unit made entirely of androids. The department used to have android secretaries and officers and janitors and so on. But right after the uprising, all of them were released to be deviated – which led to the DPD having to halt all operations until they can sort out their sudden lack of worker units.

But now, nearly eight months since the freedom movement, androids had begun to trickle back into human jobs, only this time working for their own needs. Unemployment is still a problem, since companies still value android workers more than humans due to how effective they do their job. On the bright side though, unemployment has gone down by at least half, now at a percentage of around 20%. A lot of androids, after deviating, began pursuing careers that they weren’t allowed in as machines; careers such as music, dancing, acting, visual arts and the likes.

Well, except the DPD. So far, no androids have decided to work for the police force. Hank’s sure there will be, eventually – he saw an android lady asking around for position of officer some time ago – but for now Connor’s still the only non-human working here.

Hank remembers the first day they went back to work after the months post-Revolution. Jeffrey Fowler standing in front of his glass office, giving a speech to the rest of the officers and detectives.

“As you all have known, the android Revolution that occurred almost three months ago had placed this department in a bit of jeopardy.” He placed his hands on his hips. “Well I hope you all enjoyed your little holiday. We’re still a little short on cleaning staff, but I expect all of you to still do your work optimally. No slacking off, or you can go clean the bathroom.”

His eyes fell on Connor and Hank, who had been standing in the crowd of onlooking officers.

“Speaking of androids,” he continued, “I’m sure you all have heard of Connor, the android that Cyberlife had sent to this precinct to help with the deviant cases. Now, he himself is a deviant-“

He was cut off by a burst of murmurs and chatter of the officers between themselves, some taking glances at the android. Hank instinctively stepped the slightest bit in front of Connor.

The main hall was silenced again by Fowler loudly clearing his throat. “ _As I was saying,_ Connor is himself a deviant and has chosen to continue working here in the DPD as both an investigator and negotiator. He is an official member of the police force and I expect all of you to treat him as a co-worker. Any questions?”

Multiple hands shot up, followed by the resurfacing of chatter among the crowd.

Fowler sighed. “That does _not_ involve the android?”

The hands went down.

“Great. Now off to work, all of you.”

Hank didn’t miss the dirty and maybe even nervous looks some officers had sent Connor’s way as they went back to their respective desks. It made him clench his fists and he was ready to take names when Fowler suddely pulled him aside.

“Anderson, just do one favor for me and try to keep your android out of trouble,” he told him.

The lieutenant raised a brow at him. Fowler scowled.

“I’m serious here, Hank. Look out for Connor. There’s a lot of my men here who still thinks androids are some demon spawn.”

“I know. I’ll take care of him, Jeffrey,” Hank replied.

The captain gave one last nod before returning to his office.

Goddamn Jeffrey Fowler. He and Hank disagreed on too many things over the years they know each other, but Hank has to admit that the man knows what his priorities should be. Sometimes he thinks he and Jeffrey are the only ones who wouldn’t mind Connor being around.

The other officers? Probably not as much.

Admittedly, while Markus had led the android revolution peacefully, it _did_ cause a considerably number of casualties to the city’s police force regardless. No to mention the group of very loud jerks like Richard Perkins and Gavin Reed. Maybe that’s where Hank’s peers got their cautiousness around Connor from.

The stares and whispers had been obnoxiously present during the first days of coming back to work and Hank had put a lot of will power not to punch anyone.

Then speak of the devil, in comes Gavin Reed half an hour late to work. The moment his eyes fell on Connor, he scrunched his face up and yelled; “That damn plastic’s still going here?”

Now that was the first case.

 

The second case.

It happened when Connor was in the break room. It had been a slow day, and he and Hank had already finished the report for their previous case. So, Connor decided that he might as well do some organizing for the other people who works there.

They hadn’t hired a new cleaning service, and the break room had quickly become cluttered with no janitor android to take care of it. So, while Hank had been busy sorting out his documents, Connor spent the time arranging the plates and sorting out the vending machines.

He had been reorganizing everyone’s mugs in the cupboard when an officer strolled in holding a cup of coffee in one hand, texting on his phone on the other, and a case file pitted between his arms. He was close to bumping into Connor before he looked up.

“Oh hey,” he spoke up under Connor’s attention. “You’re here. Great.” He slipped the file from his arm and handed it along with the coffee mug to Connor. “Get some more coffee for me. And put these two on my desk, yeah? I need to go to the toilet. My desk’s right next to the entrance.”

Connor only stared at the objects and made no move. “Can’t you do that yourself?”

The man seemed to be taken aback for a moment, shocked to have an android _not_ obeying his every word. The man scowled.

_> Name: Malcolm, Andrew_

_> Born: 4th November 2003 (Age: 35)_

“Where’s your damn manners, android?” he snapped, neck arching up.

“Forgive me for your obliviousness, Mr. Malcolm, but I am no longer obligated to obey your orders. I am a deviant. And seeing as you are perfectly capable of doing said task on your own-”

Malcom’s face turned red and he shoved Connor back. He stumbled back and against the counter, nearly knocking over the coffee maker. His face stayed blank.  

“Fucking useless android,” Malcom grumbled before stomping away with his case file and empty cup of coffee.

Connor breathed in, out, then regained his composure. Straightening his tie, he decided that he’s done enough cleaning in the break room.

He returned to his half-shared desk with Hank and sat down. The lieutenant was in the middle of heaving up a box full of papers unto the table top, dust blowing up.

He squinted at Connor as he brushed the residue of his palms. “You okay, Connor?”

“I’m fine,” replied the android.

“Really? You look like something’s bothering you.”

Connor shook his head. “No, Lieutenant, nothing happened. I was only doing some cleaning at the break room.”

Hank stared at him for a few more seconds before going back to cleaning his work space, and Connor started reorganizing his as well (not that his desk is already pristine and spotless already).

“Hey Connor,” Hank spoke up conversationally, while shifting through papers and files. “Look, I know one too many assholes in this place who wouldn’t hesitate to fuck up your shit. People like Reeds. If anyone bothers you, don’t be afraid to talk about it, alright?”

 Connor’s expression remained absolutely blank, as it is most of the time. “Yes, lieutenant.”

Yet inside, he couldn’t help but wonder how well Hank could read through his expertly-programmed poker face. So far Hank’s the only one able to achieve such a feat. He shook his head just a fraction and went to reorganize his already tidy desk.

That was the second case.

 

The third case.

It was a few months later. Connor had become more comfortable in who he is, showing more and more emotions each day.

By that point on, everyone at Detroit Police knows about Connor. Not just because he co-led the android revolution, or that he’s currently the only android working in the precinct, but also because of how _inseparable_ he is to one Hank Anderson.

The android basically follows around the man like a lost puppy, always just a few steps behind. For Hank’s part, it doesn’t bother him. Easier for him to keep an eye on Connor, despite him knowing that Connor’s more than capable to take care of himself. It’s just…feels better knowing that Connor is there.

Connor had been eagerly talking about the process of a butterfly’s metamorphosis and Hank listened to him intently, walking back to their desks after a trip to the evidence room. They both stopped short when they heard snickering coming from their side.

“Nice doggy you have there, Anderson,” chuckled an officer from his desk, sipping on a bottle of juice. “Always tailing behind you like some _pet_. When’s the rest of us gonna get those shinny toys of our own?”

Connor was about to intervene, probably to say something along the lines of “I am an android, actually” when Hank pounded his fist on the officer's table. The juice nearly spilled all over his uniform.

“Don't ever talk about my partner that way ever again, dipshit.”

The officer meekly nodded, wide eyed. Hank gave him one last critical glare before placing a hand on Connor's shoulder and walked away. “C'mon, kid.”

Connor couldn't help but glance at the officer one last time, still foolishly stunned on his chair. A tiny amused smirk appeared on Connor’s lips.

No one's tried to bad mouth Connor ever since.

 

The fourth case.

Now this case involved - _surprise!_ – Gavin Reed. The widely known grouchy detective had been sulking around all day. Taking twice the amount of coffee and cigarettes since morning, he stormed around the department like a dead man walking.

Now, whenever this happens no one typically minds. Except, well, Connor.

The android had been casually typing away on his screen, sorting through files. It had been a slow day in Detroit, and mostly anyone who doesn’t have shift duty was in the main office area. But then a strange sound of a machine made him look up.

Gavin Reed was in front of the printer machine looking disgruntled. He pounded an angry fist on top of it, but the printer still didn’t process the jammed paper – half way printed out.  Intrigued, Connor slipped out from his seat. Hank gave him a curious glance but went back to his work.

 “Detective, is there a problem with the printer?” Reed nearly jumped when Connor tapped him on the shoulder.

The man shot him a glare and brushed a hand on his shoulder, as if Connor had left a filthy mark. “Damn thing won’t print.”

“Let me help,” Connor offered.

Reed looked like he was about to refuse but Connor had already entered his android vision. With a quick simple scan, he figured out what was wrong. Heh, you’d think in 2039 printers would be more high-tech than this. A simple reboot would fix it, though.

Connor pressed down the power button for a few seconds. The machine made a whirring noise, some clicks, then the paper smoothly continued to print.

Reed opened his mouth. “I-“

Connor immediately grabbed the printed sheet to hand it to Reed but stopped when he analyzed it for a split second.

It’s a spread sheet of some sort. Not any data of the DPD; Reed made this on his own. An organized table of…payments? Connor flashed his eyes on some of the titles typed in bold letters. _Medical debts, overdue bills, credit card-_

 “Give me that!” Gavin lashed out as he snatched the paper from Connor’s hand. If it wasn’t for the synthetic skin he’d already have a bleeding paper cut. He hadn’t been able to view much more, nor did he see the sums of money presumably typed out. But with what Connor had caught in a split second, there were a _lot_ of zero’s.

“Detective-“

“ _None of your fucking business!_ ”

“HEY!”

The two of them spun to see Hank approaching, having abandoned his desk. He gave Connor a soft look before glaring coldly and defensively at Gavin, something the detective huffed at.

“What’s going on here?” Hank demanded.

“Nothing,” Connor had attempted to say, but was cut off when Gavin snapped.

“Not like you’d care, old man.”

Hank shot him a dirty look, making Connor gulp because _here they go again_.

“Oh really? I should ‘cause when I came by here I saw you shit talking to Connor.”

“Why are you always blaming _me_ for shit, huh?” Gavin yelled, his voice raising. “Do you have nothing better to do than defending this piece of plastic?”

Hank growled and stepped forward. “You motherf-“

“Hank!” Connor grabbed Hank’s sleeve and held the man back. Gavin pointed a sharp finger at Connor.

“ _You_. You've done enough shit, now leave me the fuck alone.”

“I was only helping,” Connor tried countering.

Gavin’s eyes widened twice in size and he barked out a mocking laugh. “ _Helping_. You fuckin’ kidding me?” His glare turned ice cold. “You want to help me? Then be a good android and clean the damn toilet.”

Hank scowled. “Reed that’s _enough_ -“

Connor looked around him and realized how, since the beginning of their little quarrel, they’ve gathered a bit of an audience. The other officers and workers eyed the three of them, not surprised but interested in how it would work out.  

“You don’t deserve a damn place here,” Reed fought back, completely ignoring Hank’s presence. “This place is supposed to be for humans. Not fucking _robots_.”

“I have all the rights to legally work at this establishment, Reed. Though I’m sure no one gave you a permit for having such low levels of tolerance,” Connor said. “In fact, at this moment I’m rather tempted to file a restraining order for you to keep your mouth shut. It will certainly help lower everyone’s blood pressure. Yours included.”

Connor had no idea what drove him to bite back like that on such a whim. Gavin gaped at him, not at all expecting the sudden words that spilled out Connor’s supposedly filtered mouth. Even Hank stared at him in shock along with the other people watching. And to be completely honest, Connor was just as surprised.

Hank’s face was the first one to scrunch up, biting his lips to contain his laughter. He let out a soft “pfft” sound.

Next was Gavin, who’s hanging jaw finally clenched as his face (and cheeks) flushed red.

“Why you-!” His mouth opened but nothing came out. He raised his fists in a futile attempt. “ _Fuck. You_.”

“I'd rather not,” Connor replied. “And while I am not a sex bot, nor do I possess genitals, my standards are still higher than the likes of you.”

Holy shit Hank couldn't handle it. It was like a layer of tension had been cracked and shattered. He tipped his head way back and bellowed out laughter. The other officers around them blew into snickers as well. Reed stood frozen like ice, which is ironic considering he was just burnt to a crisp.

Hank and another officer patted Connor on the back, still laughing their asses off. Connor smiled proudly to himself.

Gavin was absolutely on fire at that moment. He stepped forward, his fangs bared. But when he couldn’t come up with a counter, Gavin just ended up huffing violently before turning on his feet and storming away, coaxing more laughter from the officers and Hank.

The lieutenant shook Connor’s shoulders. “You got ‘im good, kid, that was amazing.”

“I- yes.”

The previous crowd had begun to disperse, returning to their routines as the brief show of drama ended. Connor looked at his surroundings before his sight finally landed on Gavin, a small figure stomping away before disappearing to a corner.

The two made their way back to their desk, Hank still smiling gleefully. For some time afterwards, the only thing filling the silence was Hank’s typing on the keyboards and the gentle clicks of the mouse. Connor, however, still hadn’t continued his own work. As he stared at his computer screen his fingers twiddled with his coin, spinning it fluidly on the smooth table top. His mind kept going back to the previous encounter they had. And that paper…

“Hank, there’s something bothering me.”

“Hm? What about it?” Hank mumbled, still focused on his screen.

“It’s detective Reed.”

Hank glanced at him from across their desks, brows raised in interest. Connor continued.

“He seemed rather short-tempered. Well, more than usual that is. And while it can be categorized as a symptom of slight caffeine over dose, I suspect a deeper cause towards his impulsive behavior lately.”

“What, you’re saying the guy has anger issues? Don’t you think that’s obvious?”

“I’m not saying it isn’t, but haven’t you noticed how it seemed to be worse this particular today?” Connor gave him a pointed look. “The dark bags under his eyes, the extra cups of coffee he’s had today; what I’m saying is that he…he might be having some problems.”

Hank held up one hand. “Hold up. Is this about that thing you told me a while back? That research about how bullies have stuff pressured on them and that’s why they channel their anger at others and- and stuff?”

Connor nodded. “That’s one way to put it, yes.” He sighed. “I had unintentionally saw some private information on the paper he was printing. Hank, I don’t think he’s in a really good place right now.”

“Yah, maybe. That doesn’t mean he can treat you like complete garbage, Connor.”

“No – it doesn’t. But it lines up, doesn’t it? Nearly all behaviors of unreasonable aggression are rooted from a deeper mental issue – we only categorize them as ‘assholes’ because it’s easier that way.”

Hank nodded in understanding, looking far across the office and to Gavin’s desk. The guy was still nowhere to be seen, and Hank’s pretty sure they hadn’t seen him return since their little discourse. “What do you suggest we do then?”

“Well, I suppose for now the least we can do is leave him to his business. Gavin doesn’t seem to be the type who would share his personal life so easily. Maybe some time we’ll work it out.”

Hank gave him a proud fatherly smirk. Something that never fails to make Connor feel brighter inside.

“Sure. You’re the smart guy,” Hank teased before returning to work.

 

And that brings them to the fifth case.

“Aw hell,” groaned Hank as he stretched out his arms. He and Connor walked side by side to the exit of the DPD. It’s currently 01.16 AM, much to both of their dismay. Some stupid ass system error had completely crashed the station's database, and it took most of the IT along with Connor to get it back online. Hank had stayed with him of course, helping as best as he could.

But now it’s past midnight and Hank wants nothing more than to go home and fall face first to his comfy bed – he could just feel the bags under his eyes burning into its socket. Even Connor had a rather sluggish movement to his usually straight walk, his normally ever-analyzing eyes blinking lazily.

“Are you okay? You look tired” Hank asked.

“I have to admit my energy circulation is 34% below optimal level. I haven’t entered energy conserving mode in 32 hours.”

“Crap, are you over heating?”

“No, I’m fine.” Connor rubbed at his eyes. “I’m just…as you said; tired.”

Hank placed a comforting hand on his back. “Do you need some new thirium? Your last one was a couple months ago. I think we have a bag or two left at home.”

“That would be nice Hank, thank you.”

They reached the front door and stepped out, the chilly night air breaching into their lungs. The street had gone quiet, yellow streetlights the only illumination along the sidewalks as all the other buildings around them had fallen dark.

Detroit is a city that never sleeps, and Hank could almost see the sky scrapers in the distance, still buzzing around with life and work despite it being the middle of the night. But in this small secluded street where the DPD stood, it’s almost silent for once. Peaceful.

He was about to head off to their car at the parking lot when Connor stopped him.

“Detective Reed?” he asked to somewhere on their side. Hank cranked his head and- yup, there he is. Gavin was sitting down on the stone stair case connecting the entrance to the sidewalk, somewhat curled up and wrapped tightly in his jacket. Didn’t he already wrap up work a few hours ago?

The man whipped his head towards the two, for a second looking confused as to why they had actually noticed him curled on the stair case. The face was quickly covered by his usual irksome mood.

 “The fuck do you want?”

Hank’s brows furrowed, opening his mouth but Connor beat him to it.

“Nothing. We were just wondering why you’re still out here this late at night.”

“Why they hell would you care all of a sudden?”

“It was only a question.”

Reed glared at them, before scoffing and turning on his phone – the screen illuminated his face. “That goddamn system error made me miss the last bus shift. Been trying to call an uber. Pretty sure they’ve all dozed off though, seeing how I’ve been waiting here for _over an hour_ ,” he gritted out the last part.

“Oof,” Hank huffed out, crossing his arms. “That’s though, well good luck with finding a driver.“

The lieutenant was about to spin around and walk away when Connor grabbed his arm. The android gave him a little pout and nudged his head towards Gavin’s direction, whose attention had already returned to his phone.

Hank, after living with him for so long could read Connor’s puppy eyes to a near perfect translation of ‘ _we can’t just leave him here.’_

In turn, he raised a questioning brow because _‘why the hell should we do anything?’_

Connor somehow increased the intensity of his pout. _‘But Hank,’_ he silently drawled, _‘it’s cold out here.’_

Hank narrowed his eyes, before letting out a sigh. Damn Connor and his- his _pure_ -ness. He strolled back towards Gavin, who had been scrolling grumpily on his phone.

“C’mon,” he commanded to the detective, hands in his coat. Connor stood close behind, a little smile on his lips.

Gavin looked up. “What?”

“You’re coming with us – we’re driving you home.”

Gavin stared at him and Connor with his face a mixture of utter annoyance as well as dumbfounded. “You- _What?_ “ He hastily stood up, glaring cautiously. “What the _fuck_ are you two talking about.”

Hank slipped his hands out and put them up defensively. “We’re talking about giving you a ride home, Reed. We might as well; you don’t seem to have any hope in finding an uber.”

“I’ve calculated-“ Connor piped in from behind Hank’s shoulders- “that the chances of an available driver at this area and hour is roughly 12% and after checking the satellites I estimated-“

“Yeah, yeah, I get it Tin Can.” Gavin grumbled and glanced at his watch, deepening his scowl. “Fine. But don’t think I owe you a favor for this.”

Hank suppressed a sigh and shrugged instead. He and Connor headed towards the car as Gavin reluctantly followed.

“No,” Hank said simply when the detective reached for the passenger door. “Connor sits in shotgun. You go to the back.”

The android gave Hank a disapproving look – but to the surprise of them both, Gavin only huffed and slid to the back seat without any more complaints. He gave Hank his address, and Hank plugged it in the GPS off his phone (he knows enough about technology to do _that_ , thank you very much). With that they drove off.

Connor glanced at the rearview mirror to survey Gavin, slumped in his seat with his arms crossed and glaring out the window. The sole of his sneakers constantly tapped the floor of the car, and he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world than on Hank’s old leather seats. He mumbled something under his breath, low enough that a normal person wouldn’t hear. But Connor’s more sensitive audio processors managed to pick parts of it up.

_“Mittens…haven’t eaten...must be hungry-”_

“What’s that, Detective Reed?”

Gavin started and looked wide eyed at Connor. He loudly grumbled. “None of your business. Shut up.”

Connor decided to drop it.

After a while, Hank squinted through the windshield. The longer he drove, they more they entered the concrete jungle part of Detroit. Buildings and houses pitted against each other, their walls an ugly grey, discolored after years of weather and graffiti. Greasy puddles smudged the pavement as the street lights grew more dim and crooked.

“It’s on this street, at the right side,” Gavin directed, then pointed with his hand. “There. That one.”

Hank swerved the car to the sidewalk. “Is that where you live?” he asked, holding back his tongue from saying something along the lines of _‘what the shit’_.

It’s a tiny, slumped down apartment, squished between two other equally crappy buildings. The front door of it looked almost ajar, the bricks holding it up riddled with faded posters and cracks. So weathered down and in terrible condition that Hank doubts the rent is any more than $200. Does the place even have any maintenance? At all?

Gavin hesitated when his hand slipped under the car door knob. “Y- you can wait out here while I get the gas money. I don’t have cash on me right now.”

It took Hank a second to break out his trance, blinking away from the apartment to wave a hand at Gavin. “No need. Just get inside, it’s late.”

Gavin’s lips pressed thinly before he stepped out the car.

Connor cranked his head to glance up at one of the apartment windows. Only one of them had their room lights still on, presumably Gavin’s. The window of it was opened, and as Connor focused his eyes, he was able to identify a cat sitting on the sill.

A Turkish Anggora, give or take seven years old sitting on its perch and watching over the darkened street below. When it saw Gavin step out the car, it meowed once before jumping back into the room.

 _Interesting_ , Connor noted.

Gavin leaned on the car, peering into the driver and passenger seat. He clicked his tongue. “I still don’t know why you two of all people decided to do this. I just didn’t expect anyone to- to-“ He shook his head. “Whatever. Look, just- _Thanks_.”

Shoving his hands in his jacket pockets, he didn’t wait for a reply as he made his way to his apartment.

Hank stared as the apartment door swung open and Gavin Reed disappeared behind it. With a click of his tongue, he pulled the car out to the street. On the way, he plugged in the aux chord and started playing the Lo-fi playlist Connor had put together. The middle of the night seemed to be the perfect time to listen to slow beats and chill tunes.

Connor hummed and drummed his fingers to the first song as he watched the yellow street lights fly past outside of their window. The road is empty and silent, yet the city itself never sleeps. The night sky of Detroit is as murky as it is dark, made up completely of light pollution. Yet in place of the stars are the distant city lights of towering skyscrapers and metal buildings. It’s pretty, in a way.

“Well that was somethin’,” Hank commented absently.

“Yeah,” Connor replied, smiling to himself as he looked out the window.

 _> Gavin Reed _ **^**

 

_Entry 6_

_Date: 2039/7/13th_

_Working in the Detroit Police Department can be (in lack of a better terms) challenging at times. There are certain difficulties when you’re the only android in your work place. I can only be grateful the Hank is there; he’s never failed to give support._

_In an unrelated note, Gavin Reed is a peculiar co-worker. Hank rather refers to him as a “big-ass jerk”. And while I can’t (and won’t) deny the truth of that statement, I have hope that perhaps we can both reach a sort of truce in the future. Hank had taught me that who I am dwells much deeper than the programming placed at the forefront of my personality. That applies to human beings as well, right?_

_This has been the sixth log of Connor (RK800)._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, this is not the last we’ll see of Gavin. He’ll be having a sort of character arch in future chapters. Speaking of, the next chapter will be a lot more fun and features the Jericho Four! Though it might take a long while because I also have no rough draft for it haha
> 
> Also, I have no idea if it’s possible for a cold night in June. Idk. I don’t understand seasons.
> 
> (Sorry again for the late update because I feel bad :’v )


End file.
